“If I ought, I will do it.” Mr. Gibson did not like this ready acquiescence, given in so few words, too.
“There’s Hollingford church-spire,” said she presently, as they drew near the town, and caught a glimpse of the church through the trees. “I think I never wish to go out of sight of it again.”
“Nonsense!” said he. “Why, you’ve all your travelling to do yet; and, if these new-fangled railways spread, as they say they will, we shall all be spinning about the world; ‘sitting on tea-kettles,’ as Phœbe Browning calls it. Miss Browning wrote such a capital letter of advice to Miss Horn-blower. I heard of it at the Millers’. Miss Hornblower was going to travel by railroad for the first time; and Dorothy was very anxious, and sent her directions for her conduct; one piece of advice was not to sit on the boiler.”
Molly laughed a little, as she was expected to do. “Here we are at home, at last.”
Mrs. Gibson gave Molly a warm welcome. For one thing, Cynthia was in disgrace; for another, Molly came from the centre of news; for a third, Mrs. Gibson was really fond of the girl, in her way, and sorry to see her pale, heavy looks.
“To think of it all being so sudden at last! Not but what I always expected it! And so provoking! Just when Cynthia had given up Roger! If she had only waited a day! What does the Squire say to it all?”
“He is beaten down with grief,” replied Molly.
“Indeed! I should not have fancied he had liked the engagement so much.”
“What engagement?”
“Why, Roger to Cynthia, to be sure. I asked you how the Squire took her letter, announcing the breaking of it off?”
“Oh—I made a mistake. He hasn’t opened his letters to-day. I saw Cynthia’s among them.”
“Now that I call positive disrespect.”
“I don’t know. He did not mean it for such. Where is Cynthia?”
“Gone out into the meadow-garden. She’ll be in directly. I wanted her to do some errands for me, but she flatly refused to go into the town. I am afraid she mismanages her affairs badly. But she won’t allow me to interfere. I hate to look at such things in a mercenary spirit, but it is provoking to see her throw over two such good matches. First Mr. Henderson, and now Roger Hamley. When does the Squire expect Roger? Does he think he will come back sooner for poor dear Osborne’s death?”
“I don’t know. He hardly seems to think of anything but Osborne. He appears to me to have almost forgotten every one else. But perhaps the news of Osborne’s being married, and of the child, may rouse him up.”
Molly had no doubt that Osborne was really and truly married, nor had she any idea that her father had never breathed the facts of which she had told him on the previous night to his wife or Cynthia. But Mr. Gibson had been slightly dubious of the full legality of the marriage, and had not felt inclined to speak of it to his wife, until that had been ascertained one way or another. So Mrs. Gibson exclaimed, “What do you mean, child? Married! Osborne married! Who says so?”
“Oh, dear! I suppose I ought not to have named it. I’m very stupid to-day. Yes! Osborne has been married a long time; but the Squire did not know of it till this morning. I think it has done him good. But I don’t know.”