“But then she must have got the money somewhere. It always has struck me that, if you have not extravagant habits, and do not live up to your income, you must have a certain sum to lay by at the end of the year. Have I not often said so, Mr. Gibson?”

“Probably.”

“Well, then, apply the same reasoning to Cynthia’s case; and then, I ask, what has become of the money?”

“I cannot tell,” said Molly, seeing that she was appealed to. “She may have given it away to some one who wants it.”

Mr. Gibson put down his newspaper.

“It’s very clear that she has neither got the dress nor the money necessary for this London visit, and that she doesn’t want any more inquiries to be made on the subject. She likes mysteries, in fact, and I detest them. Still, I think it’s a desirable thing for her to keep up the acquaintance, or friendship, or whatever it is to be called, with her father’s family; and I shall gladly give her ten pounds; and if that’s not enough, why, either you must help her out, or she must do without some superfluous article of dress or another.”

“I’m sure there never was such a kind, dear, generous man as you are, Mr. Gibson,” said his wife. “To think of your being a stepfather! and so good to my poor fatherless girl! But, Molly my dear, I think you’ll acknowledge that you, too, are very fortunate in your stepmother. Are not you, love? And what happy tête-à-têtes we shall have together when Cynthia goes to London! I’m not sure if I don’t get on better with you even than with her, though she is my own child; for, as dear papa says so truly, there is a love of mystery about her; and, if I hate anything, it is the slightest concealment or reserve. Ten pounds! Why, it will quite set her up, buy her a couple of gowns and a new bonnet, and I don’t know what all! Dear Mr. Gibson, how generous you are!”

Something very like “Pshaw!” was growled out from behind the newspaper.

“May I go and tell her?” said Molly, rising up.

“Yes, do, love! Tell her it would be so ungrateful to refuse; and tell her that your father wishes her to go; and tell her, too, that it would be quite wrong not to avail herself of an opening which may by-and- by be extended to the rest of the family. I am sure, if they ask me—which certainly they ought to do—I won’t say before they asked Cynthia, because I never think of myself, and am really the most forgiving person in the world, in forgiving slights;—but, when they do ask me, which they are sure to do, I shall never be content till, by putting in a little hint here and a little hint there, I’ve induced them to send you an invitation. A month or two in London would do you so much good, Molly.”

Molly had left the room, before this speech was ended, and Mr. Gibson was occupied with his newspaper; but Mrs. Gibson finished it to herself very much to her own satisfaction; for, after all, it was better to have some one of the family going on the visit, though she might not be the right person, than to refuse it altogether, and never to have the opportunity of saying anything about it. As Mr. Gibson was so kind to Cynthia, she too would be kind to Molly, and dress her becomingly, and invite young men to the house; do all the things, in fact, which Molly and her father did not want to have done, and throw the old stumbling- blocks in the way of their unrestrained intercourse, which was the one thing they desired to have, free and open, and without the constant dread of her jealousy.