“Mrs. Hamley wants me, and papa says I may go,” said Molly; and almost at the same time the Squire replied—

“My wife is ill, and as she’s very fond of your daughter, she begged Mr. Gibson to allow her to come to the Hall for a little while, and he kindly said she might, and I’m come to fetch her.”

“Stop a minute, darling,” said Mrs. Gibson to Molly—a slight cloud over her countenance, in spite of her caressing word. “I am sure dear papa quite forgot that you were to go out with me to-night, to visit people,” continued she, addressing herself to the Squire, “with whom I am quite unacquainted—and it is very uncertain if Mr. Gibson can return in time to accompany me—so, you see, I cannot allow Molly to go with you.”

“I shouldn’t have thought it would have signified. Brides are always brides, I suppose: and it’s their part to be timid; but I shouldn’t have thought it—in this case. And my wife sets her heart on things, as sick people do. Well, Molly” (in a louder tone, for these foregoing sentences were spoken sotto voce), “we must put it off till to-morrow; and it’s our loss, not yours,” he continued, as he saw the reluctance with which she slowly returned to her place. “You’ll be as gay as can be to-night, I daresay”——

“No, I shall not,” broke in Molly. “I never wanted to go, and now I shall want it less than ever.”

“Hush, my dear,” said Mrs. Gibson; and, addressing the Squire, she added, “The visiting here is not all one could wish for so young a girl—no young people, no dances, nothing of gaiety; but it is wrong in you, Molly, to speak against such kind friends of your father’s as I understand these Cockerells are. Don’t give so bad an impression of yourself to the kind Squire.”

“Let her alone! let her alone!” quoth he. “I see what she means. She’d rather come and be in my wife’s sick-room than go out for this visit to-night. Is there no way of getting her off?”

“None whatever,” said Mrs. Gibson. “An engagement is an engagement with me; and I consider that she is not only engaged to Mrs. Cockerell, but to me—bound to accompany me, in my husband’s absence.”

The Squire was put out; and, when he was put out, he had a trick of placing his hands on his knees and whistling softly to himself. Molly knew this phase of his displeasure, and only hoped he would confine himself to this wordless expression of annoyance. It was pretty hard work for her to keep the tears out of her eyes; and she endeavoured to think of something else rather than dwell on regrets and annoyances. She heard Mrs. Gibson talking on in a sweet monotone, and wished to attend to what she was saying; but the Squire’s visible annoyance struck sharper on her mind. At length, after a pause of silence, he started up, and said—

“Well! it’s no use. Poor madam; she won’t like it. She’ll be disappointed! But it’s but for one evening—but for one evening! She may come to-morrow, mayn’t she? Or will the dissipation of such an evening as she describes be too much for her?”

There was a touch of savage irony in his manner which frightened Mrs. Gibson into good behaviour.

“She shall be ready at any time you name. I am so sorry; my foolish shyness is in fault, I believe; but still, you must acknowledge that an engagement is an engagement.”

“Did I ever say an engagement was an elephant, madam? However, there’s no use saying any more about it, or I shall forget my manners. I’m an old tyrant, and she—lying there in bed, poor girl—has always given me my own way. So you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Gibson, won’t you; and let Molly come along with me at ten to-morrow morning?”

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Gibson, smiling. But, when his back was turned, she said to Molly—