’Well, at any rate, the squire must be satisfied now.  I saw this morning’s Times, with the Cambridge examination lists in it.  Isn’t the second son called after his father, Roger?’

‘Yes,’ said Molly, starting up, and coming nearer.

‘He’s senior wrangler, that’s all,’ said Mr. Preston, almost as though he were vexed with himself for having anything to say that could give her pleasure.  Molly went back to her seat by Cynthia.

‘Poor Mrs. Hamley,’ said she very softly, as if to herself.  Cynthia took her hand, in sympathy with Molly’s sad and tender look, rather than because she understood all that was passing in her mind, nor did she quite understand it herself.  A death that had come out of time; a wonder if the dead knew what passed upon the earth they had left—­the brilliant Osborne’s failure, Roger’s success; the vanity of human wishes; all these thoughts, and what they suggested, were inextricably mingled up in her mind.  She came to herself in a few minutes.  Mr. Preston was saying all the unpleasant things he could think of about the Hamleys in a tone of false sympathy.

’The poor old squire—­not the wisest of men—­has woefully mismanaged his estate.  And Osborne Hamley is too fine a gentleman to understand the means by which to improve the value of the land—­even if he had the capital.  A man who had practical knowledge of agriculture, and some thousands of ready money, might bring the rental up to eight thousand or so.  Of course, Osborne will try and marry some one with money; the family is old and well-established, and he mustn’t object to commercial descent, though I daresay the squire will for him; but then the young fellow himself is not the man for the work.  No! the family’s going down fast; and it’s pity when these old Saxon houses vanish off the land; but it is “kismet” with the Hamleys.  Even the senior wrangler—­if it is that Roger Hamley—­he will have spent all his brains in one effort.  You never hear of a senior wrangler being worth anything afterwards.  He’ll be a Fellow of his college, of course—­that will be a livelihood for him at any rate.’

‘I believe in senior wranglers,’ said Cynthia, her clear high voice ringing through the room.  ’And from all I’ve heard of Mr. Roger Hamley, I believe he will keep up the distinction he has earned.  And I don’t believe that the house of Hamley is so near extinction in wealth and fame, and good name.’

‘They are fortunate in having Miss Kirkpatrick’s good word,’ said Mr Preston, rising to take his leave.

‘Dear Molly,’ said Cynthia, in a whisper, ’I know nothing about your friends the Hamleys, except that they are your friends, and what you have told me about them.  But I won’t have that man speaking of them so—­and your eyes filling with tears all the time.  I’d sooner swear to their having all the talents and good fortune under the sun.’