The Squire had hitherto been too busy to talk, except about the immediate concerns of the table, and one or two of the greatest breaks to the usual monotony of his days; a monotony in which he delighted, but which sometimes became oppressive to his wife. Now, however, peeling his orange, he turned to Molly—

“To-morrow, you’ll have to do this for me, Miss Gibson.”

“Shall I? I’ll do it to-day, if you like, sir.”

“No; to-day I shall treat you as a visitor, with all proper ceremony. To-morrow I shall send you errands, and call you by your Christian name.”

“I shall like that,” said Molly.

“I was wanting to call you something less formal than Miss Gibson,” said Mrs. Hamley.

“My name’s Molly. It is an old-fashioned name, and I was christened Mary. But papa likes Molly.”

“That’s right. Keep to the good old fashions, my dear.”

“Well, I must say I think Mary is prettier than Molly, and quite as old a name, too,” said Mrs. Hamley.

“I think it was,” said Molly, lowering her voice, and dropping her eyes, “because mamma was Mary, and I was called Molly while she lived.”

“Ah, poor thing!” said the Squire, not perceiving his wife’s signs to change the subject, “I remember how sorry every one was when she died; no one thought she was delicate, she had such a fresh colour, till all at once she popped off, as one may say.”

“It must have been a terrible blow to your father,” said Mrs. Hamley, seeing that Molly did not know what to answer.

“Ay, ay. It came so sudden, so soon after they were married.”

“I thought it was nearly four years,” said Molly.

“And four years is soon—is a short time to a couple who look to spending their lifetime together. Every one thought Gibson would have married again.”

“Hush,” said Mrs. Hamley, seeing in Molly’s eyes and change of colour how completely this was a new idea to her. But the Squire was not so easily stopped.

“Well—I’d perhaps better not have said it; but it’s the truth, they did. He’s not likely to marry now; so one may say it out. Why, your father is past forty, isn’t he?”

“Forty-three. I don’t believe he ever thought of marrying again,” said Molly, recurring to the idea, as one does to that of danger which has passed by, without one’s being aware of it.

“No! I don’t believe he did, my dear. He looks to me just like a man who would be constant to the memory of his wife. You must not mind what the Squire says.”

“Ah! you’d better go away, if you’re going to teach Miss Gibson such treason as that against the master of the house.”

Molly went into the drawing-room with Mrs. Hamley; but her thoughts did not change with the room. She could not help dwelling on the danger which she fancied she had escaped, and was astonished at her