’Well! it’s no use.  Poor madam; she won’t like it.  She’ll be disappointed!  But it’s but for one evening!—­but for one evening!  She may come to-morrow, mayn’t she?  Or will the dissipation of such an evening as she describes, be too much for her?’

There was a touch of savage irony in his manner which frightened Mrs Gibson into good behaviour.

’She shall be ready at any time you name.  I am so sorry:  my foolish shyness is in fault, I believe; but still you must acknowledge that an engagement is an engagement.’

’Did I ever say an engagement was an elephant, madam?  However, there’s no use saying any more about it, or I shall forget my manners.  I’m an old tyrant, and she—­lying there in bed, poor girl—­has always given me my own way.  So you’ll excuse me, Mrs Gibson, won’t you; and let Molly come along with me at ten to-morrow morning?’

‘Certainly,’ said Mrs. Gibson, smiling.  But when his back was turned, she said to Molly,—­

’Now, my dear, I must never have you exposing me to the ill-manners of such a man again!  I don’t call him a squire; I call him a boor, or a yeoman at best.  You must not go on accepting or rejecting invitations as if you were an independent young lady, Molly.  Pay me the respect of a reference to my wishes another time, if you please, my dear!’

‘Papa had said I might go,’ said Molly, choking a little.

’As I am now your mamma your references must be to me, for the future.  But as you are to go you may as well look well dressed.  I will lend you my new shawl for this visit, if you like it, and my set of green ribbons.  I am always indulgent when proper respect is paid to me.  And in such a house as Hamley Hall, no one can tell who may be coming and going, even if there is sickness in the family.’

’Thank you.  But I don’t want the shawl and the ribbons, please:  there will be nobody there except the family.  There never is, I think; and now that she is so ill’—­Molly was on the point of crying at the thought of her friend lying ill and lonely, and looking for her arrival.  Moreover, she was sadly afraid lest the squire had gone off with the idea that she did not want to come—­that she preferred that stupid, stupid party at the Cockerells’.  Mrs. Gibson, too, was sorry; she had an uncomfortable consciousness of having given way to temper before a stranger, and a stranger, too, whose good opinion she had meant to cultivate:  and she was also annoyed at Molly’s tearful face.

‘What can I do for you, to bring you back into good temper?’ she said.  ’First, you insist upon your knowing Lady Harriet better than I do—­I, who have known her for eighteen or nineteen years at least.  Then you jump at invitations without ever consulting me, or thinking of how awkward it would be for me to go stumping into a drawing-room all by myself; following my new name, too, which always makes me feel uncomfortable, it is such a sad come-down after Kirkpatrick!  And then, when I offer you some of the prettiest things I have got, you say it does not signify how you are dressed.  What can I do to please you, Molly?  I, who delight in nothing more than peace in a family, to see you sitting there with despair upon your face?’