“Nonsense, sister!” said Miss Browning. “What has her elegance or prettiness to do with the affair? Did you ever know a widower marry again for such trifles as those? It’s always from a sense of duty of one kind or another—isn’t it, Mr. Gibson? They want a housekeeper; or they want a mother for their children; or they think their last wife would have liked it.”

Perhaps the thought had passed through the elder sister’s mind that Phœbe might have been chosen; for there was a sharp acrimony in her tone, not unfamiliar to Mr. Gibson, but with which he did not choose to cope at this present moment.

“You must have it your own way, Miss Browning. Settle my motives for me. I don’t pretend to be quite clear about them myself. But I am clear in wishing heartily to keep my old friends, and for them to love my future wife for my sake. I don’t know any two women in the world, except Molly and Mrs. Kirkpatrick, I regard as much as I do you. Besides, I want to ask you if you will let Molly come and stay with you till after my marriage?”

“You might have asked us before you asked Madam Hamley,” said Miss Browning, only half mollified. “We are your old friends; and we were her mother’s friends, too; though we are not county-folk.”

“That’s unjust,” said Mr. Gibson. “And you know it is.”

“I don’t know. You are always with Lord Hollingford, when you can get at him, much more than you ever are with Mr. Goodenough, or Mr. Smith. And you are always going over to Hamley.”

Miss Browning was not one to give in all at once.

“I seek Lord Hollingford as I should seek such a man, whatever his rank or position might be: usher to a school, carpenter, shoemaker, if it were possible for him to have had a similar character of mind developed by similar advantages. Mr. Goodenough is a very clever attorney, with strong local interests and not a thought beyond.”

“Well, well; don’t go on arguing; it always gives me a headache, as Phœbe knows. I didn’t mean what I said; that’s enough, isn’t it? I’ll retract anything sooner than be reasoned with. Where were we, before you began your arguments?”

“About dear little Molly coming to pay us a visit,” said Miss Phœbe.

“I should have asked you at first, only Coxe was so rampant with his love. I didn’t know what he might do, or how troublesome he might be both to Molly and you. But he has cooled down now. Absence has had a very tranquillising effect, and I think Molly may be in the same town with him, without any consequences beyond a few sighs every time she’s brought to his mind by meeting her. And I’ve got another favour to ask of you; so you see it would never do for me to argue with you, Miss Browning, when I ought to be a humble suppliant. Something must be done to the house to make it all ready for the future Mrs. Gibson. It wants painting and papering shamefully, and I should think some new furniture, but I’m sure I don’t know what. Would you be so very kind as to look over the place, and see how far a hundred pounds will go? The dining-room walls must be painted; we’ll keep the drawing-room paper for her choice, and I’ve a little spare money for that room, for her to lay out; but all the rest of the house I’ll leave to you, if you’ll only be kind enough to help an old friend.”

This was a commission which exactly gratified Miss Browning’s love of power. The disposal of money involved patronage of tradespeople, such as she had exercised in her father’s lifetime, but had had very little chance of showing since his death. Her usual good-humour was quite restored by this proof of confidence in her taste and economy, while Miss Phœbe’s imagination dwelt rather on the pleasure of a visit from Molly.