Molly, too, felt the change of atmosphere keenly; and she blamed herself for so feeling even more keenly still.  But she could not help having a sense of refinement, which had made her appreciate the whole manner of being at the Hall.  By her dear old friends the Miss Brownings she was petted and caressed so much that she became ashamed of noticing the coarser and louder tones in which they spoke, the provincialism of their pronunciation, the absence of interest in things, and their greediness of details about persons.  They asked her questions which she was puzzled enough to answer about her future stepmother; her loyalty to her father forbidding her to reply fully and truthfully.  She was always glad when they began to make inquiries as to every possible affair at the Hall.  She had been so happy there; she liked them all, down to the very dogs, so thoroughly, that it was easy work replying:  she did not mind telling them everything, even to the style of Mrs. Hamley’s invalid dress; nor what wine the squire drank at dinner.  Indeed, talking about these things helped her to recall the happiest time in her life.  But one evening, as they were all sitting together after tea in the little upstairs drawing-room, looking into the High Street—­Molly discoursing away on the various pleasures of Hamley Hall, and just then telling of all Roger’s wisdom in natural science, and some of the curiosities he had shown her, she was suddenly pulled up by this little speech,—­

‘You seem to have seen a great deal of Mr. Roger, Molly!’ said Miss Browning, in a way intended to convey a great deal of meaning to her sister and none at all to Molly.  But,—­

    ’The man recovered of the bite;
     The dog it was that died.’

Molly was perfectly aware of Miss Browning’s emphatic tone, though at first she was perplexed as to its cause; while Miss Phoebe was just then too much absorbed in knitting the heel of her stocking to be fully alive to her sister’s nods and winks.

‘Yes; he was very kind to me,’ said Molly, slowly, pondering over Miss Browning’s manner, and unwilling to say more until she had satisfied herself to what the question tended.

’I dare say you will soon be going to Hamley Hall again?  He’s not the eldest son, you know, Phoebe!  Don’t make my head ache with your eternal “eighteen, nineteen,” but attend to the conversation.  Molly is telling us how much she saw of Mr. Roger, and how kind he was to her.  I’ve always heard he was a very nice young man, my dear.  Tell us some more about him!  Now, Phoebe, attend!  How was he kind to you, Molly?’

’Oh, he told me what books to read; and one day he made me notice how many bees I saw—­’

‘Bees, child!  What do you mean?  Either you or he must have been crazy!’

’No, not at all.  There are more than two hundred kinds of bees in England, and he wanted me to notice the difference between them and flies.  Miss Browning, I can’t help seeing what you fancy,’ said Molly, as red as fire, ’but it is very wrong; it is all a mistake.  I won’t speak another word about Mr. Roger or Hamley at all, if it puts such silly notions into your head.’