Molly saw Lady Cuxhaven say something in a half-laughing manner to ‘Clare,’ as she passed her; and the child could not keep from tormenting herself by fancying that the words spoken sounded wonderfully like ‘Over-eaten herself, I suspect.’  However, she felt too poorly to worry herself long; the little white bed in the cool and pretty room had too many attractions for her aching head.  The muslin curtains flapped softly from time to time in the scented air that came through the open windows.  Clare covered her up with a light shawl, and darkened the room.  As she was going away Molly roused herself to say, ’Please, ma’am, don’t let them go away without me.  Please ask somebody to waken me if I go to sleep.  I am to go back with the Miss Brownings.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself about it, dear; I’ll take care,’ said Clare, turning round at the door, and kissing her hand to little anxious Molly.  And then she went away, and thought no more about it.  The carriages came round at half-past four, hurried a little by Lady Cumnor, who had suddenly become tired of the business of entertaining, and annoyed at the repetition of indiscriminating admiration.

’Why not have both carriages out, mamma, and get rid of them all at once?’ said Lady Cuxhaven.  ’This going by instalments is the most tiresome thing that could be imagined.’  So at last there had been a great hurry and an unmethodical way of packing off every one at once.  Miss Browning had gone in the chariot (or ‘chawyot,’ as Lady Cumnor called it;—­it rhymed to her daughter, Lady Hawyot—­or Harriet, as the name was spelt in the Peerage), and Miss Phoebe had been speeded along with several other guests, away in a great roomy family conveyance, of the kind which we should now call an ‘omnibus.’  Each thought that Molly Gibson was with the other, and the truth was, that she lay fast asleep on Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s bed—­Mrs. Kirkpatrick nee Clare.

The housemaids came in to arrange the room.  Their talking aroused Molly, who sate up on the bed, and tried to push back the hair from her hot forehead, and to remember where she was.  She dropped down on her feet by the side of the bed, to the astonishment of the women, and said,—­’Please, how soon are we going away?’

‘Bless us and save us! who’d ha’ thought of any one being in the bed?  Are you one of the Hollingford ladies, my dear?  They are all gone this hour or more!’

’Oh, dear, what shall I do?  That lady they call Clare promised to waken me in time.  Papa will so wonder where I am, and I don’t know what Betty will say.’

The child began to cry, and the housemaids looked at each other in some dismay and much sympathy.  Just then, they heard Mrs Kirkpatrick’s step along the passages, approaching.  She was singing some little Italian air in a low musical voice, coming to her bedroom to dress for dinner.  One housemaid said to the other, with a knowing look, ’Best leave it to her;’ and they passed on to their work in the other rooms.