they had already dined early. But Mrs. Gibson really meant to make Molly happy, and tried to be an agreeable companion; only Molly was not well, and was uneasy about many apprehended cares and troubles—and, at such hours of indisposition as she was then passing through, apprehensions take the shape of certainties, lying await in our paths. Molly would have given a good deal to have shaken off all these feelings, unusual enough to her; but the very house and furniture, and rain-blurred outer landscape, seemed steeped with unpleasant associations, most of them dating from the last few days.

“You and I must go on the next journey, I think, my dear,” said Mrs. Gibson, almost chiming in with Molly’s wish that she could get away from Hollingford into some new air and life, for a week or two. “We have been stay-at-homes for a long time, and variety of scene is so desirable for the young! But I think the travellers will be wishing themselves at home by this nice bright fireside. ‘There’s no place like home,’ as the poet says. ‘Mid pleasures and palaces though I may roam,’ it begins, and it’s both very pretty and very true. It’s a great blessing to have such a dear little home as this, is not it, Molly?”

“Yes,” said Molly, rather drearily, having something of the “toujours perdrix” feeling at the moment. If she could but have gone away with her father, just for two days, how pleasant it would have been!

“To be sure, love, it would be very nice for you and me to go a little journey all by ourselves. You and I. No one else. If it were not such miserable weather, we would have gone off on a little impromptu tour. I’ve been longing for something of the kind for some weeks; but we live such a restricted kind of life here! I declare sometimes I get quite sick of the very sight of the chairs and tables that I know so well. And one misses the others, too! It seems so flat and deserted without them!”

“Yes! We are very forlorn to-night; but I think it’s partly owing to the weather!”

“Nonsense, dear! I can’t have you giving in to the silly fancy of being affected by weather. Poor dear Mr. Kirkpatrick used to say, ‘a cheerful heart makes its own sunshine.’ He would say it to me, in his pretty way, whenever I was a little low—for I am a complete barometer—you may really judge of the state of the weather by my spirits, I have always been such a sensitive creature! It is well for Cynthia that she does not inherit it; I don’t think her easily affected in any way, do you?”

Molly thought for a minute or two, and then replied—“No, she certainly is not easily affected—not deeply affected, perhaps I should say.”

“Many girls, for instance, would have been touched by the admiration she excited—I may say the attentions she received—when she was at her uncle’s last summer.”

“At Mr. Kirkpatrick’s?”

“Yes. There was Mr. Henderson, that young lawyer; that’s to say, he is studying law, but he has a good private fortune and is likely to have more; so he can only be what I call playing at law. Mr. Henderson was over head and ears in love with her. It is not my fancy, although I grant mothers are partial: both Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick noticed it; and, in one of Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s letters, she said that poor Mr. Henderson was going into Switzerland for the long vacation, doubtless to try and forget Cynthia; but she really believed he would find it only ‘dragging at each remove a lengthening chain.’ I thought it such a refined quotation, and altogether worded so prettily. You must know aunt Kirkpatrick some day, Molly, my love; she is what I call a woman of a truly elegant mind.”

“I can’t help thinking it was a pity that Cynthia did not tell them of her engagement.”

“It is not an engagement, my dear! How often must I tell you that?”

“But what am I to call it?”


  By PanEris using Melati.

Previous chapter/page Back Home Email this Search Discuss Bookmark Next chapter/page
Copyright: All texts on Bibliomania are © Bibliomania.com Ltd, and may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission. See our FAQ for more details.