“Be quiet, child! All proverbs are vulgar, and, I do believe, that is the vulgarest of all. You are really catching Roger Hamley’s coarseness, Cynthia!”

“Mamma,” said Cynthia, roused to anger, “I don’t mind your abusing me, but Mr. Roger Hamley has been very kind to me while I’ve not been well: I can’t bear to hear him disparaged. If he’s coarse, I’ve no objection to be coarse as well; for it seems to me it must mean kindliness and pleasantness, and the bringing of pretty flowers and presents.”

Molly’s tears were brimming over at these words; she could have kissed Cynthia for her warm partisanship; but, afraid of betraying emotion, and “making a scene,” as Mrs. Gibson called showing any signs of warm feeling, she laid down her book hastily, and ran upstairs to her room, and locked the door, in order to breathe freely. There were traces of tears upon her face, when she returned into the drawing-room half- an-hour afterwards, walking straight and demurely up to her former place, where Cynthia still sate and gazed idly out of the window, pouting and displeased; Mrs. Gibson, meanwhile, counting her stitches aloud with great distinctness and vigour.