“You see, I don’t think the worse of a girl for meeting her sweetheart here and there and everywhere, till she gets talked about; but then, when she does—and Molly Gibson’s name is in everybody’s mouth—I think it’s only fair to Bessy, who has trusted me with Annabella, not to let her daughter be seen with a lass who has managed her matters so badly as to set folk talking about her. My maxim is this,—and it’s a very good working one, you may depend on’t—women should mind what they’re about, and never be talked of; and, if a woman’s talked of, the less her friends have to do with her till the talk has died away, the better. So Annabella is not to have anything to do with Molly Gibson this visit at any rate.”

For a good while, the Miss Brownings were kept in ignorance of the evil tongues that whispered hard words about Molly. Miss Browning was known to “have a temper,” and by instinct every one who came in contact with her shrank from irritating that temper by uttering the slightest syllable against the smallest of those creatures over whom she spread the ægis of her love. She would and did reproach them herself; she used to boast that she never spared them; but no one else might touch them with the slightest slur of a passing word. But Miss Phœbe inspired no such terror; the great reason why she did not hear of the gossip against Molly as early as any one, was that, although she was not the rose, she lived near the rose. Besides, she was of so tender a nature that even thick-skinned Mrs. Goodenough was unwilling to say what would give her pain; and it was the new-comer, Mrs. Dawes, who in all ignorance alluded to the town’s talk, as to something of which Miss Phœbe must be aware. Then Miss Phœbe poured down her questions, although she protested, even with tears, her total disbelief in all the answers she received. It was a small act of heroism on her part to keep all that she then learnt a secret from her sister Dorothy, as she did for four or five days; till Miss Browning attacked her one evening with the following speech—

“Phœbe! either you’ve some reason for puffing yourself out with sighs, or you’ve not. If you have a reason, it’s your duty to tell it me directly; and if you haven’t a reason, you must break yourself of a bad habit that is growing upon you.”

“Oh, sister! do you think it is really my duty to tell you? it would be such a comfort; but then I thought I ought not; it will distress you so.”

“Nonsense. I am so well prepared for misfortune by the frequent contemplation of its possibility, that I believe I can receive any ill news with apparent equanimity and real resignation. Besides, when you said yesterday at breakfast-time that you meant to give up the day to making your drawers tidy, I was aware that some misfortune was impending, though of course I could not judge of its magnitude. Is the Highchester Bank broken?”

“Oh no, sister!” said Miss Phœbe, moving to a seat close to her sister’s on the sofa. “Have you really been thinking that? I wish I had told you what I heard at the very first, if you’ve been fancying that!”

“Take warning, Phœbe, and learn to have no concealments from me. I did think we must be ruined, from your ways of going on: eating no meat at dinner, and sighing continually. And now what is it?”

“I hardly know how to tell you, Dorothy. I really don’t.”

Miss Phœbe began to cry; Miss Browning took hold of her arm, and gave her a little sharp shake.

“Cry as much as you like, when you’ve told me; but don’t cry now, child, when you’re keeping me on the tenter-hooks.”

“Molly Gibson has lost her character, sister. That’s it.”

“Molly Gibson has done no such thing,” said Miss Browning indignantly. “How dare you repeat such stories about poor Mary’s child? Never let me hear you say such things again.”