“When will she leave school?”

“She went for two years. I don’t think I must let her leave before next summer. She teaches English as well as learning French. Next summer she shall come home, and then shan’t we be a happy little quartette!”

“I hope so,” said Molly. “But she is to come to the wedding, isn’t she?” she went on timidly, not knowing how far Mrs. Kirkpatrick would like the allusion to her marriage.

“Your father has begged for her to come; but we must think about it a little 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-coloured style—perhaps something like what I was. But I like the dark-haired, foreign kind of beauty best—just now,” touching Molly’s hair, and looking at her with an expression of sentimental remembrance.

“Does Cynthia—is she very clever and accomplished?” asked Molly, a little afraid lest the answer should place Miss Kirkpatrick at too great a distance from her.

“She ought to be; I’ve paid ever so much money to have her taught by the best masters. But you will see her before long, and I’m afraid we must go now to Lady Cumnor. It has been very charming having you all to myself; but I know Lady Cumnor will be expecting us now, and she was very curious to see you—my future daughter, as she calls you.”

Molly followed Mrs. Kirkpatrick into the morning-room, where Lady Cumnor was sitting—a little annoyed, because, having completed her toilette earlier than usual, Clare had not been aware by instinct of the fact, and so had not brought Molly Gibson for inspection a quarter of an hour before. Every small occurrence is an event in the day of a convalescent invalid, and a little while ago Molly would have met with patronising appreciation, where now she had to encounter criticism. Of Lady Cumnor’s character as an individual she knew nothing; she only knew she was going to see and be seen by a live countess—nay, more, by “the countess” of Hollingford.

Mrs. Kirkpatrick led her into Lady Cumnor’s presence by the hand, and, in presenting her, said—“My dear little daughter, Lady Cumnor!”

“Now, Clare, don’t let me have any nonsense. She is not your daughter yet, and may never be—I believe that one-third of the engagements I have heard of have never come to marriages. Miss Gibson, I am very glad to see you, for your father’s sake; when I know you better, I hope it will be for your own.”

Molly very heartily hoped that she might never be known any better by the stern-looking lady who sate so upright in the easy-chair prepared for lounging, which therefore gave all the more effect to her stiff attitude. Lady Cumnor luckily took. Molly’s silence for acquiescent humility, and went on speaking after a further little pause 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 has trained up several young people of quality always about you just at the time when you are growing up. I’ll tell you what, Clare!”—a sudden thought striking her—“you and she must become better acquainted—you know nothing of each other at present; you are not to be married till Christmas, and what could be better than that she should go back with you to Ashcombe! She would be with you constantly, and have the advantage of the companionship of your young people, which would be a good thing for an only child! It’s a capital plan; I’m very glad I thought of it!”