make it my nightly prayer that I may be able to find you just such another husband. And all this time you have never told me whom you met at the Towers?”

Molly ran over a list of names. Roger Hamley’s came last.

“Upon my word! That young man is pushing his way up!”

“The Hamleys are a far older family than the Cumnors,” said Molly, flushing up.

“Now, Molly, I can’t have you democratic. Rank is a great distinction. It is quite enough to have dear papa with democratic tendencies. But we won’t begin to quarrel. Now that you and I are left alone, we ought to be bosom friends, and I hope we shall be. Roger Hamley did not say much about that unfortunate little Osborne Hamley, I suppose?”

“On the contrary, he says his father dotes on the child; and he seemed very proud of him, himself.”

“I thought the Squire must be getting very much infatuated with something. I dare say the French mother takes care of that. Why! he has scarcely taken any notice of you for this month or more, and before that you were everything.”

It was about six weeks since Cynthia’s engagement had become publicly known, and that might have had something to do with the Squire’s desertion, Molly thought. But she said—

“The Squire has sent me an invitation to go and stay there next week, if you have no objection, mamma. They seem to want a companion for Mrs. Osborne Hamley, who is not very strong.”

“I can hardly tell what to say—I don’t like your having to associate with a Frenchwoman of doubtful rank; and I can’t bear the thought of losing my child—my only daughter now. I did ask Helen Kirkpatrick, but she can’t come for some time; and the house is going to be altered. Papa has consented to build me another room at last, for Cynthia and Mr. Henderson will, of course, come and see us; we shall have many more visitors, I expect, and your bedroom will make a capital lumber-room; and Maria wants a week’s holiday. I am always so unwilling to put any obstacles in the way of any one’s pleasure—weakly unwilling, I believe —but it certainly would be very convenient to have you out of the house for a few days; so, for once, I will waive my own wish for your companionship, and plead your cause with papa.”

The Miss Brownings came to call and hear the double batch of news. Mrs. Goodenough had called the very day on which they had returned from Miss Hornblower’s, to tell them the astounding fact of Molly Gibson having gone on a visit to the Towers: not to come back at night, but to sleep there; to be there for two or three days, just as if she was a young lady of quality. So the Miss Brownings came to hear all the details of the wedding from Mrs. Gibson, and the history of Molly’s visit at the Towers as well. But Mrs. Gibson did not like this divided interest, and some of her old jealousy of Molly’s intimacy at the Towers returned.

“Now, Molly,” said Miss Browning, “let us hear how you behaved among the great folks. You must not be set up with all their attention; remember that they pay it to you for your good father’s sake.”

“Molly is, I think, quite aware,” put in Mrs. Gibson, in her most soft and languid tone, “that she owes her privilege of visiting at such a house to Lady Cumnor’s kind desire to set my mind quite at liberty at the time of Cynthia’s marriage. As soon as ever I had returned home, Molly came back; indeed, I should not have thought it right to let her intrude upon their kindness beyond what was absolutely necessary.”

Molly felt extremely uncomfortable at all this, though perfectly aware of the entire inaccuracy of the statement.

“Well, but, Molly!” said Miss Browning, “never mind whether you went there on your own merits, or your worthy father’s merits, or Mrs. Gibson’s merits; but tell us what you did when you were there.”