So Molly began an account of their sayings and doings, which she could have made far more interesting to Miss Browning and Miss Phœbe, if she had not been conscious of her stepmother’s critical listening. She had to tell it all with a mental squint; the surest way to spoil a narration. She was also subject to Mrs. Gibson’s perpetual corrections of little statements which she knew to be facts. But what vexed her most of all was Mrs. Gibson’s last speech before the Miss Brownings left.

“Molly has fallen into rambling ways with this visit of hers, of which she makes so much, as if nobody had ever been in a great house but herself. She is going to Hamley Hall next week — getting quite dissipated, in fact.”

Yet to Mrs. Goodenough, the next caller on the same errand of congratulation, Mrs. Gibson’s tone was quite different. There had always been a tacit antagonism between the two, and the conversation now ran as follows:—

Mrs. Goodenough began,

“Well! Mrs. Gibson, I suppose I must wish you joy of Miss Cynthia’s marriage; I should condole with some mothers as had lost their daughters; but you’re not one of that sort, I reckon.”

Now, as Mrs. Gibson was not quite sure to which “sort” of mothers the greatest credit was to be attached, she found it a little difficult how to frame her reply.

“Dear Cynthia!” she said. “One can’t but rejoice in her happiness! And yet—” She ended her sentence by sighing.

“Ay. She was a young woman as would always have her followers; for, to tell the truth, she was as pretty a creature as ever I saw in my life. And all the more she needed skilful guidance. I’m sure I, for one, am as glad as can be she’s done so well by herself. Folks say Mr. Henderson has a handsome private fortune over and above what he makes by the law.”

“There is no fear but that my Cynthia will have everything this world can give!” said Mrs. Gibson with dignity.

“Well, well! she was always a bit of a favourite of mine; and, as I was saying to my granddaughter there” (for she was accompanied by a young lady, who looked keenly to the prospect of some wedding-cake), “I was never one of those who ran her down, and called her a flirt and a jilt. I’m glad to hear she’s like to be so well off. And now, I suppose, you’ll be turning your mind to doing something for Miss Molly there?”

“If you mean by that, doing anything that can, by hastening her marriage, deprive me of the company of one who is like my own child, you are very much mistaken, Mrs. Goodenough. And pray remember, I am the last person in the world to match-make. Cynthia made Mr. Henderson’s acquaintance at her uncle’s in London.”

“Ay! I thought her cousins was very often ill, and needing her nursing, and you were very keen she should be of use. I’m not saying but what it’s right in a mother; I’m only putting in a word for Miss Molly.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Goodenough,” said Molly, half angry, half laughing; “when I want to be married, I’ll not trouble mamma. I’ll look out for myself.”

“Molly is becoming so popular, I hardly know how we shall keep her at home,” said Mrs. Gibson. “I miss her sadly; but, as I said to Mr. Gibson, let young people have change, and see a little of the world while they are young. It has been a great advantage to her being at the Towers, while so many clever and distinguished people were there. I can already see a difference in her tone and conversation: an elevation in her choice of subjects. And now she is going to Hamley Hall. I can assure you I feel quite a proud