CHAPTER XI.
MAKING FRIENDSHIP.
Mr. Gibson believed that Cynthia Kirkpatrick was to return to Englandto be present at her mother's wedding; but Mrs. Kirkpatrick hadno such intention. She was not what is commonly called a womanof determination but somehow what she disliked she avoided, andwhat she liked she tried to do, or to have. So although in theconversation, which she had already led to, as to the when and thehow she was to be married, she had listened quietly to Mr. Gibson'sproposal that Molly and Cynthia should be the two bridesmaids, stillshe had felt how disagreeable it would be to her to have her youngdaughter flashing out her beauty by the side of the faded bride, hermother; and as the further arrangements for the wedding became moredefinite, she saw further reasons in her own mind for Cynthia'sremaining quietly at her school at Boulogne.
Mrs. Kirkpatrick had gone to bed that first night of her engagementto Mr. Gibson, fully anticipating a speedy marriage. She looked toit as a release from the thraldom of keeping school--keeping anunprofitable school, with barely pupils enough to pay for houserent and taxes, food, washing, and the requisite masters. She sawno reason for ever going back to Ashcombe, except to wind up heraffairs, and to pack up her clothes. She hoped that Mr. Gibson'sardour would be such that he would press on the marriage, and urgeher never to resume her school drudgery, but to relinquish it now andfor ever. She even made up a very pretty, very passionate speech forhim in her own mind; quite sufficiently strong to prevail upon her,and to overthrow the scruples which she felt she ought to have, attelling the parents of her pupils that she did not intend to resumeschool, and that they must find another place of education for theirdaughters, in the last week but one of the midsummer holidays.
It was rather like a douche of cold water on Mrs. Kirkpatrick'splans, when the next morning at breakfast Lady Cumnor began to decideupon the arrangements and duties of the two middle-aged lovers.
"Of course you can't give up your school all at once, Clare. Thewedding can't be before Christmas, but that will do very well. Weshall all be down at the Towers; and it will be a nice amusement forthe children to go over to Ashcombe, and see you married."
"I think--I am afraid--I don't believe Mr. Gibson will like waitingso long; men are so impatient under these circumstances."
"Oh, nonsense! Lord Cumnor has recommended you to his tenants, andI'm sure he wouldn't like them to be put to any inconvenience. Mr.Gibson will see that in a moment. He's a man of sense, or else hewouldn't be our family doctor. Now, what are you going to do aboutyour little girl? Have you fixed yet?"
"No. Yesterday there seemed so little time, and when one is agitatedit is so difficult to think of anything. Cynthia is nearly eighteen,old enough to go out as a governess, if he wishes it, but I don'tthink he will. He is so generous and kind."
"Well! I must give you time to settle some of your affairs to-day.Don't waste it in sentiment, you're too old for that. Come to a clearunderstanding with each other; it will be for your happiness in thelong run."
So they did come to a clear understanding about one or two things.To Mrs. Kirkpatrick's dismay, she found that Mr. Gibson had no moreidea than Lady Cumnor of her breaking faith with the parents of herpupils. Though he really was at a serious loss as to what was tobecome of Molly till she could be under the protection of his newwife at her own home, and though his domestic worries teased him moreand more every day, he was too honourable to think of persuading Mrs.Kirkpatrick to give up school a week sooner than was right for hissake. He did not even perceive how easy the task of persuasion wouldbe; with all her winning wiles she could scarcely lead him to feelimpatience for the wedding to take place at Michaelmas.
"I can hardly tell you what a comfort and relief it will be to me,Hyacinth, when you are once my wife--the mistress of my home--poorlittle Molly's mother and protector; but I wouldn't interfere withyour previous engagements for the world. It wouldn't be right."
"Thank you, my own love. How good you are! So many men would thinkonly of their own wishes and interests! I'm sure the parents ofmy dear pupils will admire you--will be quite surprised at yourconsideration for their interests."
"Don't tell them, then. I hate being admired. Why shouldn't you sayit is your wish to keep on your school till they've had time to lookout for another?"
"Because it isn't," said she, daring all. "I long to be making youhappy; I want to make your home a place of rest and comfort to you;and I do so wish to cherish your sweet Molly, as I hope to do, whenI come to be her mother. I can't take virtue to myself which doesn'tbelong to me. If I have to speak for myself, I shall say, 'Goodpeople, find a school for your daughters by Michaelmas,--for afterthat time I must go and make the happiness of others.' I can't bearto think of your long rides in November--coming home wet at nightwith no one to take care of you. Oh! if you leave it to me, I shalladvise the parents to take their daughters away from the care of onewhose heart will be absent. Though I couldn't consent to any timebefore Michaelmas--that wouldn't be fair or right, and I'm sure youwouldn't urge me--you are too good."
"Well, if you think that they will consider we have acted uprightlyby them, let it be Michaelmas with all my heart. What does LadyCumnor say?"
"Oh! I told her I was afraid you wouldn't like waiting, because ofyour difficulties with your servants, and because of Molly--it wouldbe so desirable to enter on the new relationship with her as soon aspossible."
"To be sure; so it would. Poor child! I'm afraid the intelligence ofmy engagement has rather startled her."
"Cynthia will feel it deeply, too," said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, unwillingto let her daughter be behind Mr. Gibson's in sensibility andaffection.
"We will have her over to the wedding! She and Molly shall bebridesmaids," said Mr. Gibson, in the unguarded warmth of his heart.
This plan did not quite suit Mrs. Kirkpatrick: but she thought itbest not to oppose it, until she had a presentable excuse to give,and perhaps also some reason would naturally arise out of futurecircumstances; so at this time she only smiled, and softly pressedthe hand she held in hers.
It is a question whether Mrs. Kirkpatrick or Molly wished the mostfor the day to be over which they were to spend together at theTowers. Mrs. Kirkpatrick was rather weary of girls as a class. Allthe trials of her life were connected with girls in some way. She wasvery young when she first became a governess, and had been worstedin her struggles with her pupils, in the first place she ever wentto. Her elegance of appearance and manner, and her accomplishments,more than her character and acquirements, had rendered it easierfor her than for most to obtain good "situations;" and she had beenabsolutely petted in some; but still she was constantly encounteringnaughty or stubborn, or over-conscientious, or severe-judging, orcurious and observant girls. And again, before Cynthia was born, shehad longed for a boy, thinking it possible that if some three orfour intervening relations died, he might come to be a baronet; andinstead of a son, lo and behold it was a daughter! Nevertheless, withall her dislike to girls in the abstract as "the plagues of her life"(and her aversion was not diminished by the fact of her having kepta school for "young ladies" at Ashcombe), she really meant to be askind as she could be to her new step-daughter, whom she rememberedprincipally as a black-haired, sleepy child, in whose eyes she hadread admiration of herself. Mrs. Kirkpatrick accepted Mr. Gibsonprincipally because she was tired of the struggle of earning her ownlivelihood; but she liked him personally--nay, she even loved him inher torpid way, and she intended to be good to his daughter, thoughshe felt as if it would have been easier for her to have been good tohis son.
Molly was bracing herself up in her way too. "I will be like Harriet.I will think of others. I won't think of myself," she kept repeatingall the way to the Towers. But there was no selfishness in wishingthat the day was come to an end, and that she did very heartily. Mrs.Hamley sent her thither in the carriage, which was to wait and bringher back at night. Mrs. Hamley wanted Molly to make a favourableimpression, and she sent for her to come and show herself before sheset out.
"Don't put on your silk gown--your white muslin will look the nicest,my dear."
"Not my silk? it is quite new! I had it to come here."
"Still, I think your white muslin suits you the best." "Anything butthat horrid plaid silk" was the thought in Mrs. Hamley's mind; and,thanks to her, Molly set off for the Towers, looking a little quaint,it is true, but thoroughly lady-like, if she was old-fashioned. Herfather was to meet her there; but he had been detained, and she hadto face Mrs. Kirkpatrick by herself, the recollection of her lastday of misery at the Towers fresh in her mind as if it had beenyesterday. Mrs. Kirkpatrick was as caressing as could be. She heldMolly's hand in hers, as they sate together in the library, after thefirst salutations were over. She kept stroking it from time to time,and purring out inarticulate sounds of loving satisfaction, as shegazed in the blushing face.
THE NEW MAMMA.]
"What eyes! so like your dear father's! How we shall love eachother--shan't we, darling? For his sake!"
"I'll try," said Molly, bravely; and then she could not finish hersentence.
"And you've just got the same beautiful black curling hair!" saidMrs. Kirkpatrick, softly lifting one of Molly's curls from off herwhite temple.
"Papa's hair is growing grey," said Molly.
"Is it? I never see it. I never shall see it. He will always be to methe handsomest of men."
Mr. Gibson was really a very handsome man, and Molly was pleased withthe compliment; but she could not help saying,--
"Still he will grow old, and his hair will grow grey. I think he willbe just as handsome, but it won't be as a young man."
"Ah! that's just it, love. He'll always be handsome; some peoplealways are. And he is so fond of you, dear." Molly's colour flashedinto her face. She did not want an assurance of her own father's lovefrom this strange woman. She could not help being angry; all shecould do was to keep silent. "You don't know how he speaks of you;'his little treasure,' as he calls you. I'm almost jealoussometimes."
Molly took her hand away, and her heart began to harden; thesespeeches were so discordant to her. But she set her teeth together,and "tried to be good."
"We must make him so happy. I'm afraid he has had a great deal toannoy him at home; but we will do away with all that now. You musttell me," seeing the cloud in Molly's eyes, "what he likes anddislikes, for of course you will know."
Molly's face cleared a little; of course she did know. She had notwatched and loved him so long without believing that she understoodhim better than any one else: though how he had come to like Mrs.Kirkpatrick enough to wish to marry her, was an unsolved problem thatshe unconsciously put aside as inexplicable. Mrs. Kirkpatrick wenton,--"All men have their fancies and antipathies, even the wisest.I have known some gentlemen annoyed beyond measure by the meresttrifles; leaving a door open, or spilling tea in their saucers, ora shawl crookedly put on. Why," continued she, lowering her voice,"I know of a house to which Lord Hollingford will never be askedagain because he didn't wipe his shoes on both the mats in the hall!Now you must tell me what your dear father dislikes most in thesefanciful ways, and I shall take care to avoid it. You must be mylittle friend and helper in pleasing him. It will be such a pleasureto me to attend to his slightest fancies. About my dress, too--whatcolours does he like best? I want to do everything in my power with aview to his approval."
Molly was gratified by all this, and began to think that really,after all, perhaps her father had done well for himself; and thatif she could help towards his new happiness, she ought to do it. Soshe tried very conscientiously to think over Mr. Gibson's wishes andways; to ponder over what annoyed him the most in his household.
"I think," said she, "papa isn't particular about many things; but Ithink our not having the dinner quite punctual--quite ready for himwhen he comes in, fidgets him more than anything. You see, he hasoften had a long ride, and there is another long ride to come, and hehas only half-an-hour--sometimes only a quarter--to eat his dinnerin."
"Thank you, my own love. Punctuality! Yes; it's a great thing in ahousehold. It's what I've had to enforce with my young ladies atAshcombe. No wonder poor dear Mr. Gibson has been displeased at hisdinner not being ready, and he so hard-worked!"
"Papa doesn't care what he has, if it's only ready. He would takebread-and-cheese, if cook would only send it in instead of dinner."
"Bread-and-cheese! Does Mr. Gibson eat cheese?"
"Yes; he's very fond of it," said Molly, innocently. "I've knownhim eat toasted cheese when he has been too tired to fancy anythingelse."
"Oh! but, my dear, we must change all that. I shouldn't like tothink of your father eating cheese; it's such a strong-smelling,coarse kind of thing. We must get him a cook who can toss him up anomelette, or something elegant. Cheese is only fit for the kitchen."
"Papa is very fond of it," persevered Molly.
"Oh! but we will cure him of that. I couldn't bear the smell ofcheese; and I'm sure he would be sorry to annoy me."
Molly was silent; it did not do, she found, to be too minute intelling about her father's likes or dislikes. She had better leavethem for Mrs. Kirkpatrick to find out for herself. It was an awkwardpause; each was trying to find something agreeable to say. Mollyspoke at length. "Please! I should so like to know something aboutCynthia--your daughter."
"Yes, call her Cynthia. It's a pretty name, isn't it? CynthiaKirkpatrick. Not so pretty, though, as my old name, Hyacinth Clare.People used to say it suited me so well. I must show you an acrosticthat a gentleman--he was a lieutenant in the 53rd--made upon it. Oh!we shall have a great deal to say to each other, I foresee!"
"But about Cynthia?"
"Oh, yes! about dear Cynthia. What do you want to know, my dear?"
"Papa said she was to live with us! When will she come?"
"Oh, was it not sweet of your kind father? I thought of nothingelse but Cynthia's going out as a governess when she had completedher education she has been brought up for it, and has had greatadvantages. But good dear Mr. Gibson wouldn't hear of it. He saidyesterday that she must come and live with us when she left school."
"When will she leave school?"
"She went for two years. I don't think I must let her leave beforenext summer. She teaches English as well as learning French. Nextsummer she shall come home, and then shan't we be a happy littlequartette?"
"I hope so," said Molly. "But she is to come to the wedding, isn'tshe?" she went on timidly, not knowing how far Mrs. Kirkpatrick wouldlike the allusion to her marriage.
"Your father has begged for her to come; but we must think about it alittle more before quite fixing it. The journey is a great expense!"
"Is she like you? I do so want to see her."
"She is very handsome, people say. In the bright-colouredstyle,--perhaps something like what I was. But I like the dark-hairedforeign kind of beauty best--just now," touching Molly's hair, andlooking at her with an expression of sentimental remembrance.
"Does Cynthia--is she very clever and accomplished?" asked Molly, alittle afraid lest the answer should remove Miss Kirkpatrick at toogreat a distance from her.
"She ought to be; I've paid ever so much money to have her taught bythe best masters. But you will see her before long, and I'm afraid wemust go now to Lady Cumnor. It has been very charming having you allto myself, but I know Lady Cumnor will be expecting us now, and shewas very curious to see you,--my future daughter, as she calls you."
Molly followed Mrs. Kirkpatrick into the morning-room, where LadyCumnor was sitting--a little annoyed, because, having completed hertoilette earlier than usual, Clare had not been aware by instinctof the fact, and so had not brought Molly Gibson for inspection aquarter of an hour before. Every small occurrence is an event inthe day of a convalescent invalid, and a little while ago Mollywould have met with patronizing appreciation, where now she had toencounter criticism. Of Lady Cumnor's character as an individual sheknew nothing; she only knew she was going to see and be seen by alive countess; nay, more, by "_the_ cou
ntess" of Hollingford.
Mrs. Kirkpatrick led her into Lady Cumnor's presence by the hand, andin presenting her, said,--"My dear little daughter, Lady Cumnor!"
"Now, Clare, don't let me have nonsense. She is not your daughteryet, and may never be,--I believe that one-third of the engagementsI have heard of, have never come to marriages. Miss Gibson, I am veryglad to see you, for your father's sake; when I know you better, Ihope it will be for your own."
Molly very heartily hoped that she might never be known any betterby the stern-looking lady who sate so upright in the easy chair,prepared for lounging, and which therefore gave all the more effectto the stiff attitude. Lady Cumnor luckily took Molly's silence foracquiescent humility, and went on speaking after a further littlepause of inspection.
"Yes, yes, I like her looks, Clare. You may make something of her.It will be a great advantage to you, my dear, to have a lady who hastrained up several young people of quality always about you just atthe time when you are growing up. I'll tell you what, Clare!"--asudden thought striking her,--"you and she must become betteracquainted--you know nothing of each other at present; you are notto be married till Christmas, and what could be better than thatshe should go back with you to Ashcombe! She would be with youconstantly, and have the advantage of the companionship of your youngpeople, which would be a good thing for an only child! It's a capitalplan; I'm very glad I thought of it!"
Now it would be difficult to say which of Lady Cumnor's two hearerswas the most dismayed at the idea which had taken possession ofher. Mrs. Kirkpatrick had no fancy for being encumbered with astep-daughter before her time. If Molly came to be an inmate of herhouse, farewell to many little background economies, and a stillmore serious farewell to many little indulgences, that were innocentenough in themselves, but which Mrs. Kirkpatrick's former lifehad caused her to look upon as sins to be concealed: the dirtydog's-eared delightful novel from the Ashcombe circulating library,the leaves of which she turned over with a pair of scissors; thelounging-chair which she had for use at her own home, straight andupright as she sate now in Lady Cumnor's presence; the dainty morsel,savoury and small, to which she treated herself for her own solitarysupper,--all these and many other similarly pleasant things wouldhave to be foregone if Molly came to be her pupil, parlour-boarder,or visitor, as Lady Cumnor was planning. One--two things Clare wasinstinctively resolved upon: to be married at Michaelmas, and notto have Molly at Ashcombe. But she smiled as sweetly as if the planproposed was the most charming project in the world, while all thetime her poor brains were beating about in every bush for the reasonsor excuses of which she should make use at some future time. Molly,however, saved her all this trouble. It was a question which of thethree was the most surprised by the words which burst out of herlips. She did not mean to speak, but her heart was very full, andalmost before she was aware of her thought she heard herselfsaying,--
"I don't think it would be nice at all. I mean, my lady, that Ishould dislike it very much; it would be taking me away from papajust these very few last months. I will like you," she went on,her eyes full of tears; and, turning to Mrs. Kirkpatrick, she puther hand into her future stepmother's with the prettiest and mosttrustful action. "I will try hard to love you, and to do all I canto make you happy; but you must not take me away from papa just thisvery last bit of time that I shall have him."
Mrs. Kirkpatrick fondled the hand thus placed in hers, and wasgrateful to the girl for her outspoken opposition to Lady Cumnor'splan. Clare was, however, exceedingly unwilling to back up Mollyby any words of her own until Lady Cumnor had spoken and given thecue. But there was something in Molly's little speech, or in herstraightforward manner, that amused instead of irritating Lady Cumnorin her present mood. Perhaps she was tired of the silkiness withwhich she had been shut up for so many days.
She put up her glasses, and looked at them both before speaking. Thenshe said--"Upon my word, young lady! Why, Clare, you've got your workbefore you! Not but what there is a good deal of truth in what shesays. It must be very disagreeable to a girl of her age to have astepmother coming in between her father and herself, whatever may bethe advantages to her in the long run."
Molly almost felt as if she could make a friend of the stiff oldcountess, for her clearness of sight as to the plan proposed beinga trial; but she was afraid, in her new-born desire of thinking forothers, of Mrs. Kirkpatrick being hurt. She need not have feared asfar as outward signs went, for the smile was still on that lady'spretty rosy lips, and the soft fondling of her hand never stopped.Lady Cumnor was more interested in Molly the more she looked at her;and her gaze was pretty steady through her gold-rimmed eye-glasses.She began a sort of catechism; a string of very straightforwardquestions, such as any lady under the rank of countess might havescrupled to ask, but which were not unkindly meant.
"You are sixteen, are you not?"
"No; I am seventeen. My birthday was three weeks ago."
"Very much the same thing, I should think. Have you ever been toschool?"
"No, never! Miss Eyre has taught me everything I know."
"Umph! Miss Eyre was your governess, I suppose? I should not havethought your father could have afforded to keep a governess. But ofcourse he must know his own affairs best."
"Certainly, my lady," replied Molly, a little touchy as to anyreflections on her father's wisdom.
"You say 'certainly!' as if it was a matter of course that everyone should know their own affairs best. You are very young, MissGibson--very. You'll know better before you come to my age. And Isuppose you've been taught music, and the use of globes, and French,and all the usual accomplishments, since you have had a governess? Inever heard of such nonsense!" she went on, lashing herself up. "Anonly daughter! If there had been half-a-dozen, there might have beensome sense in it."
Molly did not speak, but it was by a strong effort that she keptsilence. Mrs. Kirkpatrick fondled her hand more perseveringly thanever, hoping thus to express a sufficient amount of sympathy toprevent her from saying anything injudicious. But the caress hadbecome wearisome to Molly, and only irritated her nerves. She tookher hand out of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's, with a slight manifestation ofimpatience.
It was, perhaps, fortunate for the general peace that just at thismoment Mr. Gibson was announced. It is odd enough to see how theentrance of a person of the opposite sex into an assemblage of eithermen or women calms down the little discordances and the disturbanceof mood. It was the case now; at Mr. Gibson's entrance my lady tookoff her glasses, and smoothed her brow; Mrs. Kirkpatrick managedto get up a very becoming blush, and as for Molly, her face glowedwith delight, and the white teeth and pretty dimples came out likesunlight on a landscape.
Of course, after the first greeting, my lady had to have a privateinterview with her doctor; and Molly and her future stepmotherwandered about in the gardens with their arms round each other'swaists, or hand in hand, like two babes in the wood; Mrs. Kirkpatrickactive in such endearments, Molly passive, and feeling within herselfvery shy and strange; for she had that particular kind of shy modestywhich makes any one uncomfortable at receiving caresses from a persontowards whom the heart does not go forth with an impulsive welcome.
Then came the early dinner; Lady Cumnor having hers in the quiet ofher own room, to which she was still a prisoner. Once or twice duringthe meal, the idea crossed Molly's mind that her father disliked hisposition as a middle-aged lover being made so evident to the men inwaiting as it was by Mrs. Kirkpatrick's affectionate speeches andinnuendos. He tried to banish every tint of pink sentimentalism fromthe conversation, and to confine it to matter of fact; and when Mrs.Kirkpatrick would persevere in referring to such things as had abearing on the future relationship of the parties, he insisted uponviewing them in the most matter-of-fact way; and this continued evenafter the men had left the room. An old rhyme Molly had heard Bettyuse, would keep running in her head and making her uneasy,--
Two is company, Three is trumpery.
But where could she go to in that strange hou
se? What ought she todo? She was roused from this fit of wonder and abstraction by herfather's saying--"What do you think of this plan of Lady Cumnor's?She says she was advising you to have Molly as a visitor at Ashcombeuntil we are married."
Mrs. Kirkpatrick's countenance fell. If only Molly would be so goodas to testify again, as she had done before Lady Cumnor! But if theproposal was made by her father, it would come to his daughter froma different quarter than it had done from a strange lady, be sheever so great. Molly did not say anything; she only looked pale, andwistful, and anxious. Mrs. Kirkpatrick had to speak for herself.
"It would be a charming plan, only--Well! we know why we would rathernot have it, don't we, love? And we won't tell papa, for fear ofmaking him vain. No! I think I must leave her with you, dear Mr.Gibson, to have you all to herself for these last few weeks. It wouldbe cruel to take her away."
"But you know, my dear, I told you of the reason why it does not doto have Molly at home just at present," said Mr. Gibson, eagerly. Forthe more he knew of his future wife, the more he felt it necessaryto remember that, with all her foibles, she would be able to standbetween Molly and any such adventures as that which had occurredlately with Mr. Coxe; so that one of the good reasons for the step hehad taken was always present to him, while it had slipped off thesmooth surface of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's mirror-like mind without leavingany impression. She now recalled it, on seeing Mr. Gibson's anxiousface.
But what were Molly's feelings at these last words of her father's?She had been sent from home for some reason, kept a secret from her,but told to this strange woman. Was there to be perfect confidencebetween these two, and she to be for ever shut out? Was she, and whatconcerned her--though how she did not know--to be discussed betweenthem for the future, and she to be kept in the dark? A bitter pangof jealousy made her heart-sick. She might as well go to Ashcombe,or anywhere else, now. Thinking more of others' happiness thanof her own was very fine; but did it not mean giving up her veryindividuality, quenching all the warm love, the true desires, thatmade her herself? Yet in this deadness lay her only comfort; or so itseemed. Wandering in such mazes, she hardly knew how the conversationwent on a third was indeed "trumpery," where there was entireconfidence between the two who were company, from which the other wasshut out. She was positively unhappy, and her father did not appearto see it; he was absorbed with his new plans and his new wife thatwas to be. But he did notice it; and was truly sorry for his littlegirl: only he thought that there was a greater chance for the futureharmony of the household, if he did not lead Molly to define herpresent feelings by putting them into words. It was his general planto repress emotion by not showing the sympathy he felt. Yet, when hehad to leave, he took Molly's hand in his, and held it there, in sucha different manner to that in which Mrs. Kirkpatrick had done; andhis voice softened to his child as he bade her good-by, and added thewords (most unusual to him), "God bless you, child!"
Molly had held up all the day bravely; she had not shown anger, orrepugnance, or annoyance, or regret; but when once more by herself inthe Hamley carriage, she burst into a passion of tears, and cried herfill till she reached the village of Hamley. Then she tried in vainto smooth her face into smiles, and do away with the other signs ofher grief. She only hoped she could run upstairs to her own roomwithout notice, and bathe her eyes in cold water before she was seen.But at the Hall-door she was caught by the squire and Roger coming infrom an after-dinner stroll in the garden, and hospitably anxious tohelp her to alight. Roger saw the state of things in an instant, andsaying,--
"My mother has been looking for you to come back for this last hour,"he led the way to the drawing-room. But Mrs. Hamley was not there;the Squire had stopped to speak to the coachman about one of thehorses; they two were alone. Roger said,--
"I'm afraid you've had a very trying day. I have thought of youseveral times, for I know how awkward these new relations are."
"Thank you," said she, her lips trembling, and on the point of cryingagain. "I did try to remember what you said, and to think more ofothers, but it is so difficult sometimes; you know it is, don't you?"
"Yes," said he, gravely. He was gratified by her simple confessionof having borne his words of advice in mind, and tried to act up tothem. He was but a very young man, and he was honestly flattered;perhaps this led him on to offer more advice, and this time it wasevidently mingled with sympathy. He did not want to draw out herconfidence, which he felt might very easily be done with such asimple girl; but he wished to help her by giving her a few of theprinciples on which he had learnt to rely. "It is difficult," he wenton, "but by-and-by you will be so much happier for it."
"No, I shan't!" said Molly, shaking her head. "It will be very dullwhen I shall have killed myself, as it were, and live only in tryingto do, and to be, as other people like. I don't see any end to it.I might as well never have lived. And as for the happiness you speakof, I shall never be happy again."
There was an unconscious depth in what she said, that Roger did notknow how to answer at the moment; it was easier to address himselfto the assertion of the girl of seventeen, that she should never behappy again.
"Nonsense: perhaps in ten years' time you will be looking back onthis trial as a very light one--who knows?"
"I daresay it seems foolish; perhaps all our earthly trials willappear foolish to us after a while; perhaps they seem so now toangels. But we are ourselves, you know, and this is _now_, not sometime to come, a long, long way off. And we are not angels, to becomforted by seeing the ends for which everything is sent."
She had never spoken so long a sentence to him before; and when shehad said it, though she did not take her eyes away from his, as theystood steadily looking at each other, she blushed a little; she couldnot have told why. Nor did he tell himself why a sudden pleasure cameover him as he gazed at her simple expressive face--and for a momentlost the sense of what she was saying, in the sensation of pity forher sad earnestness. In an instant more he was himself again. Onlyit is pleasant to the wisest, most reasonable youth of one or twoand twenty to find himself looked up to as a Mentor by a girl ofseventeen.
"I know, I understand. Yes: it is _now_ we have to do with. Don't letus go into metaphysics." Molly opened her eyes wide at this. Had shebeen talking metaphysics without knowing it? "One looks forward toa mass of trials, which will only have to be encountered one by one,little by little. Oh, here is my mother! she will tell you betterthan I can."
And the _tete-a-tete_ was merged in a trio. Mrs. Hamley lay down; shehad not been well all day--she had missed Molly, she said,--and nowshe wanted to hear of all the adventures that had occurred to thegirl at the Towers. Molly sate on a stool close to the head of thesofa, and Roger, though at first he took up a book and tried to readthat he might be no restraint, soon found his reading all a pretence:it was so interesting to listen to Molly's little narrative, and,besides, if he could give her any help in her time of need, was itnot his duty to make himself acquainted with all the circumstances ofher case?
And so they went on during all the remaining time of Molly's stayat Hamley. Mrs. Hamley sympathized, and liked to hear details; asthe French say, her sympathy was given _en detail_, the Squire's_en gros_. He was very sorry for her evident grief, and almost feltguilty, as if he had had a share in bringing it about, by the mentionhe had made of the possibility of Mr. Gibson's marrying again, whenfirst Molly came on her visit to them. He said to his wife more thanonce,--
"'Pon my word, now, I wish I'd never spoken those unlucky words thatfirst day at dinner. Do you remember how she took them up? It waslike a prophecy of what was to come, now, wasn't it? And she lookedpale from that day, and I don't think she has ever fairly enjoyed herfood since. I must take more care what I say for the future. Not butwhat Gibson is doing the very best thing, both for himself and her,that he can do. I told him so only yesterday. But I'm very sorry forthe little girl, though. I wish I'd never spoken about it, that I do!but it was like a prophecy, wasn't it?"
Roger tried hard to find o
ut a reasonable and right method ofcomfort, for he, too, in his way, was sorry for the girl, who bravelystruggled to be cheerful, in spite of her own private grief, for hismother's sake. He felt as if high principle and noble precept oughtto perform an immediate work. But they do not, for there is alwaysthe unknown quantity of individual experience and feeling, whichoffer a tacit resistance, the amount incalculable by another, to allgood counsel and high decree. But the bond between the Mentor and hisTelemachus strengthened every day. He endeavoured to lead her outof morbid thought into interest in other than personal things; and,naturally enough, his own objects of interest came readiest to hand.She felt that he did her good, she did not know why or how; but aftera talk with him, she always fancied that she had got the clue togoodness and peace, whatever befell.
Wives and Daughters Page 13
