“My dear little woman!” said Lady Harriet, bending over her and speaking quite gravely. “I’m very sorry to have called them names—very, very sorry to have hurt you. If I promise you to be respectful to them in word and in deed—and in very thought, if I can—you’ll let me come then, won’t you?”

Molly hesitated. “I’d better go home at once; I shall only say wrong things—and there’s Lord Cumnor waiting all this time.”

“Let him alone; he’s very well amused hearing all the news of the day from Brown. Then I shall come—under promise?”

So Molly drove off in solitary grandeur; and the Miss Brownings’ knocker was loosened on its venerable hinges by the never-ending peal of Lord Cumnor’s foot-man.

They were full of welcome, full of curiosity. All through the long day they had been missing their bright young visitor, and three or four times in every hour they had been wondering and settling what everybody was doing at that exact minute. What had become of Molly, during all the afternoon, had been a great perplexity to them; and they were very much oppressed with a sense of the great honour she had received in being allowed to spend so many hours alone with Lady Harriet. They were, indeed, more excited by this one fact than by all the details of the wedding, most of which they had known of beforehand and talked over with much perseverance during the day. Molly began to feel as if there was some foundation for Lady Harriet’s inclination to ridicule the worship paid by the good people of Hollingford to their liege lord, and to wonder with what tokens of reverence they would receive Lady Harriet, if she came to pay her promised visit. She had never thought of concealing the probability of this call until the evening; but now she felt as if it would be better not to speak of the chance, as she was not at all sure that the promise would be fulfilled.

Before Lady Harriet’s call was paid, Molly received another visit.

Roger Hamley came riding over one day with a note from his mother, and a wasps’-nest as a present from himself. Molly heard his powerful voice come sounding up the little staircase, as he asked if Miss Gibson was at home, from the servant-maid at the door; and she was half-amused and half-annoyed as she thought how this call of his would give colour to the Miss Brownings’ fancies. “I would rather never be married at all,” thought she, “than marry an ugly man—and dear good Mr. Roger is really ugly; I don’t think one could even call him plain.” Yet the Miss Brownings, who did not look upon young men as if their natural costume was a helmet and a suit of armour, thought Mr. Roger Hamley a very personable young fellow, as he came into the room, his face flushed with exercise, his white teeth showing pleasantly in the courteous bow and smile he gave to all around. He knew the Miss Brownings slightly, and talked pleasantly to them, while Molly read Mrs. Hamley’s little missive of sympathy and good wishes relating to the wedding; then he turned to her, and, though the Miss Brownings listened with all their ears, they could not find out anything remarkable either in the words he said or the tone in which they were spoken.

“I’ve brought you the wasps’-nest I promised you, Miss Gibson. There has been no lack of such things this year; we’ve taken seventy-four on my father’s land alone; and one of the labourers, a poor fellow who ekes out his wages by bee-keeping, has had a sad misfortune—the wasps have turned the bees out of his seven hives, taken possession, and eaten up the honey.”

“What greedy little vermin!” said Miss Browning.

Molly saw Roger’s eyes twinkle at the misapplication of the word; but, though he had a strong sense of humour, it never appeared to diminish his respect for the people who amused him.

“I’m sure they deserve fire and brimstone more than the poor dear innocent bees,” said Miss Phœbe. “And then it seems so ungrateful of mankind, who are going to feast on the honey!” She sighed over the thought, as if it was too much for her.