CHAPTER XXIV.
MRS. GIBSON'S LITTLE DINNER.
[Illustration (untitled)]
All this had taken place before Roger's first meeting with Molly andCynthia at Miss Brownings'; and the little dinner on the Friday atMr. Gibson's, which followed in due sequence.
Mrs. Gibson intended the Hamleys to find this dinner pleasant; andthey did. Mr. Gibson was fond of the two young men, both for theirparents' sake and their own, for he had known them since boyhood; andto those whom he liked Mr. Gibson could be remarkably agreeable. Mrs.Gibson really gave them a welcome--and cordiality in a hostess is avery becoming mantle for any other deficiencies there may be. Cynthiaand Molly looked their best, which was all the duty Mrs. Gibsonabsolutely required of them, as she was willing enough to take herfull share in the conversation. Osborne fell to her lot, of course,and for some time he and she prattled on with all the ease of mannerand commonplaceness of meaning which go far to make the "art ofpolite conversation." Roger, who ought to have made himself agreeableto one or the other of the young ladies, was exceedingly interestedin what Mr. Gibson was telling him of a paper on comparativeosteology in some foreign journal of science, which Lord Hollingfordwas in the habit of forwarding to his friend the country surgeon.Yet, every now and then while he listened, he caught his attentionwandering to the face of Cynthia, who was placed between his brotherand Mr. Gibson. She was not particularly occupied with attending toanything that was going on her eyelids were carelessly dropped, asshe crumbled her bread on the tablecloth, and her beautiful longeyelashes were seen on the clear tint of her oval cheek. She wasthinking of something else; Molly was trying to understand with allher might. Suddenly Cynthia looked up, and caught Roger's gaze ofintent admiration too fully for her to be unaware that he was staringat her. She coloured a little; but, after the first moment of rosyconfusion at his evident admiration of her, she flew to the attack,diverting his confusion at thus being caught, to the defence ofhimself from her accusation.
"It is quite true!" she said to him. "I was not attending: you seeI don't know even the A B C of science. But, please, don't look soseverely at me, even if I am a dunce!"
"I didn't know--I didn't mean to look severely, I am sure," repliedhe, not knowing well what to say.
"Cynthia is not a dunce either," said Mrs. Gibson, afraid lest herdaughter's opinion of herself might be taken seriously. "But I havealways observed that some people have a talent for one thing andsome for another. Now Cynthia's talents are not for science and theseverer studies. Do you remember, love, what trouble I had to teachyou the use of the globes?"
"Yes; and I don't know longitude from latitude now; and I'm alwayspuzzled as to which is perpendicular and which is horizontal."
"Yet, I do assure you," her mother continued, rather addressingherself to Osborne, "that her memory for poetry is prodigious. I haveheard her repeat the 'Prisoner of Chillon' from beginning to end."
"It would be rather a bore to have to hear her, I think," said Mr.Gibson, smiling at Cynthia, who gave him back one of her bright looksof mutual understanding.
"Ah, Mr. Gibson, I have found out before now that you have no soulfor poetry; and Molly there is your own child. She reads such deepbooks--all about facts and figures: she'll be quite a blue-stockingby-and-by."
"Mamma," said Molly, reddening, "you think it was a deep book becausethere were the shapes of the different cells of bees in it! but itwas not at all deep. It was very interesting."
"Never mind, Molly," said Osborne. "I stand up for blue-stockings."
"And I object to the distinction implied in what you say," saidRoger. "It was not deep, _ergo_, it was very interesting. Now, a bookmay be both deep and interesting."
"Oh, if you are going to chop logic and use Latin words, I think itis time for us to leave the room," said Mrs. Gibson.
"Don't let us run away as if we were beaten, mamma," said Cynthia."Though it may be logic, I, for one, can understand what Mr. RogerHamley said just now; and I read some of Molly's books; and whetherit was deep or not I found it very interesting--more so than I shouldthink the 'Prisoner of Chillon' now-a-days. I've displaced thePrisoner to make room for Johnnie Gilpin as my favourite poem."
"How could you talk such nonsense, Cynthia!" said Mrs. Gibson, as thegirls followed her upstairs. "You know you are not a dunce. It is allvery well not to be a blue-stocking, because gentle-people don't likethat kind of woman; but running yourself down, and contradicting allI said about your liking for Byron, and poets and poetry--to OsborneHamley of all men, too!"
Mrs. Gibson spoke quite crossly for her.
"But, mamma," Cynthia replied, "I am either a dunce, or I am not. IfI am, I did right to own it; if I am not, he's a dunce if he doesn'tfind out I was joking."
"Well," said Mrs. Gibson, a little puzzled by this speech, andwanting some elucidatory addition.
"Only that if he's a dunce his opinion of me is worth nothing. So,any way, it doesn't signify."
"You really bewilder me with your nonsense, child. Molly is worthtwenty of you."
"I quite agree with you, mamma," said Cynthia, turning round to takeMolly's hand.
"Yes; but she ought not to be," said Mrs. Gibson, still irritated."Think of the advantages you've had."
"I'm afraid I had rather be a dunce than a blue-stocking," saidMolly; for the term had a little annoyed her, and the annoyance wasrankling still.
"Hush; here they are coming: I hear the dining-room door! I nevermeant you were a blue-stocking, dear, so don't look vexed.--Cynthia,my love, where did you get those lovely flowers--anemones, are they?They suit your complexion so exactly."
"Come, Molly, don't look so grave and thoughtful," exclaimed Cynthia."Don't you perceive mamma wants us to be smiling and amiable?"
Mr. Gibson had had to go out to his evening round; and the young menwere all too glad to come up into the pretty drawing-room; the brightlittle wood-fire; the comfortable easy-chairs which, with so smalla party, might be drawn round the hearth; the good-natured hostess;the pretty, agreeable girls. Roger sauntered up to the corner whereCynthia was standing, playing with a hand-screen.
"There is a charity ball in Hollingford soon, isn't there?" asked he.
"Yes; on Easter Tuesday," she replied.
"Are you going? I suppose you are?"
"Yes; mamma is going to take Molly and me."
"You will enjoy it very much--going together?"
For the first time during this little conversation she glanced up athim--real honest pleasure shining out of her eyes.
"Yes; going together will make the enjoyment of the thing. It wouldbe dull without her."
"You are great friends, then?" he asked.
"I never thought I should like any one so much,--any girl I mean."
She put in the final reservation in all simplicity of heart; and inall simplicity did he understand it. He came ever so little nearer,and dropped his voice a little.
"I was so anxious to know. I am so glad. I have often wondered howyou two were getting on."
"Have you?" said she, looking up again. "At Cambridge? You must bevery fond of Molly!"
"Yes, I am. She was with us so long; and at such a time! I look uponher almost as a sister."
"And she is very fond of all of you. I seem to know you all fromhearing her talk about you so much.--All of you!" said she, laying anemphasis on "all" to show that it included the dead as well as theliving. Roger was silent for a minute or two.
"I didn't know you, even by hearsay. So you mustn't wonder that I wasa little afraid. But as soon as I saw you I knew how it must be; andit was such a relief!"
"Cynthia," said Mrs. Gibson, who thought that the younger son had hadquite his share of low, confidential conversation, "come here, andsing that little French ballad to Mr. Osborne Hamley."
"Which do you mean, mamma? 'Tu t'en repentiras, Colin?'"
"Yes; such a pretty, playful little warning to young men," said Mrs.Gibson, smiling up at Osborne. "The refrain is--
Tu t'en repentiras, Colin, Tu t'en repentiras, Car si tu prends une femme, Colin, Tu t'en repentiras.
The advice may apply very well when there is a French wife in thecase; but not, I am sure, to an Englishman who is thinking of anEnglish wife."
"TU T'EN REPENTIRAS, COLIN."]
This choice of a song was exceedingly _mal-apropos_, had Mrs. Gibsonbut known it. Osborne and Roger knowing that the wife of the formerwas a Frenchwoman, and, conscious of each other's knowledge, feltdoubly awkward; while Molly was as much confused as though sheherself were secretly married. However, Cynthia carolled the saucyditty out, and her mother smiled at it, in total ignorance of anyapplication it might have. Osborne had instinctively gone to standbehind Cynthia, as she sate at the piano, so as to be ready to turnover the leaves of her music if she required it. He kept his handsin his pockets and his eyes fixed on her fingers; his countenanceclouded with gravity at all the merry quips which she so playfullysang. Roger looked grave as well, but was much more at his ease thanhis brother; indeed, he was half-amused by the awkwardness of thesituation. He caught Molly's troubled eyes and heightened colour, andhe saw that she was feeling this _contretemps_ more seriously thanshe needed to do. He moved to a seat by her, and half whispered, "Toolate a warning, is it not?"
Molly looked up at him as he leant towards her, and replied in thesame tone--"Oh, I am so sorry!"
"You need not be. He won't mind it long; and a man must take theconsequences when he puts himself in a false position."
Molly could not tell what to reply to this, so she hung her headand kept silence. Yet she could see that Roger did not change hisattitude or remove his hand from the back of his chair, and, impelledby curiosity to find out the cause of his stillness, she looked up athim at length, and saw his gaze fixed on the two who were near thepiano. Osborne was saying something eagerly to Cynthia, whose graveeyes were upturned to him with soft intentness of expression, and herpretty mouth half-open, with a sort of impatience for him to ceasespeaking, that she might reply.
"They are talking about France," said Roger, in answer to Molly'sunspoken question. "Osborne knows it well, and Miss Kirkpatrick hasbeen at school there, you know. It sounds very interesting; shall wego nearer and hear what they are saying?"
It was all very well to ask this civilly, but Molly thought it wouldhave been better to wait for her answer. Instead of waiting, however,Roger went to the piano, and, leaning on it, appeared to join in thelight merry talk, while he feasted his eyes as much as he dared bylooking at Cynthia. Molly suddenly felt as if she could scarcely keepfrom crying--a minute ago he had been so near to her, and talking sopleasantly and confidentially; and now he almost seemed as if he hadforgotten her existence. She thought that all this was wrong; andshe exaggerated its wrongness to herself; "mean," and "envious ofCynthia," and "ill-natured," and "selfish," were the terms she keptapplying to herself; but it did no good, she was just as naughty atthe last as at the first.
Mrs. Gibson broke into the state of things which Molly thought was toendure for ever. Her work had been intricate up to this time, and hadrequired a great deal of counting; so she had had no time to attendto her duties, one of which she always took to be to show herself tothe world as an impartial stepmother. Cynthia had played and sung,and now she must give Molly her turn of exhibition. Cynthia's singingand playing was light and graceful, but anything but correct; butshe herself was so charming, that it was only fanatics for music whocared for false chords and omitted notes. Molly, on the contrary, hadan excellent ear, if she had ever been well taught; and both frominclination and conscientious perseverance of disposition, she wouldgo over an incorrect passage for twenty times. But she was very shyof playing in company; and when forced to do it, she went through herperformance heavily, and hated her handiwork more than any one.
"Now, you must play a little, Molly," said Mrs. Gibson "play us thatbeautiful piece of Kalkbrenner's, my dear."
Molly looked up at her stepmother with beseeching eyes; but it onlybrought out another form of request, still more like a command.
"Go at once, my dear. You may not play it quite rightly; and I knowyou are very nervous; but you're quite amongst friends."
So there was a disturbance made in the little group at the piano, andMolly sate down to her martyrdom.
"Please, go away!" said she to Osborne, who was standing behind herready to turn over. "I can quite well do it for myself. And oh! ifyou would but talk!"
Osborne remained where he was in spite of her appeal, and gaveher what little approval she got; for Mrs. Gibson, exhausted byher previous labour of counting her stitches, fell asleep in hercomfortable sofa-corner near the fire; and Roger, who began at firstto talk a little in compliance with Molly's request, found hisconversation with Cynthia so agreeable, that Molly lost her placeseveral times in trying to catch a sudden glimpse of Cynthia sittingat her work, and Roger by her, intent on catching her low replies towhat he was saying.
"There, now I've done!" said Molly, standing up quickly as soon asshe had finished the eighteen dreary pages; "and I think I will neversit down to play again!"
Osborne laughed at her vehemence. Cynthia began to take some partin what was being said, and thus made the conversation general. Mrs.Gibson wakened up gracefully, as was her way of doing all things, andslid into the subjects they were talking about so easily, that shealmost succeeded in making them believe she had never been asleep atall.
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