“Mr. Preston doesn’t improve on acquaintance. There was a time, mamma, when I think both you and I thought him very agreeable.”

“I don’t remember. You’ve a clearer memory than I have. But we were talking of this delightful Mr. Osborne Hamley. Why, Molly, you were always talking of his brother—it was Roger this, and Roger that—I can’t think how it was you so seldom mentioned this young man.”

“I didn’t know I had mentioned Mr. Roger Hamley so often,” said Molly, blushing a little. “But I saw much more of him—he was more at home.”

“Well, well! It’s all right, my dear. I daresay he suits you best. But really, when I saw Osborne Hamley close to my Cynthia, I couldn’t help thinking—but perhaps I’d better not tell you what I was thinking of. Only they are, each of them, so much above the average in appearance; and, of course, that suggests things.”

“I perfectly understand what you are thinking of, mamma,” said Cynthia, with the greatest composure; “and so does Molly, I have no doubt.”

“Well! there’s no harm in it, I’m sure. Did you hear him say that, though he did not like to leave his father alone just at present, yet, when his brother Roger came back from Cambridge, he should feel more at liberty! It was quite as much as to say, ‘If you will ask me to dinner then, I shall be delighted to come.’ And chickens will be so much cheaper, and cook has such a nice way of boning them, and doing them up with force-meat. Everything seems to be falling out so fortunately. And Molly, my dear, you know I won’t forget you. By-and-by, when Roger Hamley has taken his turn at stopping at home with his father, we will ask him to one of our little quiet dinners.”

Molly was very slow at taking this in; but in about a minute the sense of it had reached her brain, and she went all over very red and hot; especially as she saw that Cynthia was watching the light come into her mind with great amusement.

“I’m afraid Molly isn’t properly grateful, mamma. If I were you, I wouldn’t exert myself to give a dinner- party on her account. Bestow all your kindness upon me.”

Molly was often puzzled by Cynthia’s speeches to her mother; and this was one of these occasions. But she was more anxious to say something for herself; she was so much annoyed at the implication in Mrs. Gibson’s last words.

“Mr. Roger Hamley has been very good to me; he was a great deal at home when I was there, and Mr. Osborne Hamley was very little there; that was the reason I spoke so much more of one than the other. If I had—if he had,” —losing her coherence in the difficulty of finding words—“I don’t think I should—oh, Cynthia, instead of laughing at me, I think you might help me to explain myself!”

Instead, Cynthia gave a diversion to the conversation.

“Mamma’s paragon gives me an idea of weakness. I can’t quite make out whether it’s in body or mind. Which is it, Molly?”

“He’s not strong, I know; but he’s very accomplished and clever. Every one says that—even papa, who doesn’t generally praise young men. That made the puzzle the greater, when he did so badly at college.”

“Then it’s his character that is weak. I’m sure there’s weakness somewhere; but he’s very agreeable. It must have been very pleasant, staying at the Hall.”

“Yes, but it’s all over now.”