half hour in the library at Hamley Hall—­when she had learnt a fact which seemed so all-important to Osborne, yet which made so little difference in his way of life—­either in speech or action.  During the twelve or fourteen hours or so that she had remained at the Hall afterwards, no further allusion had been made to his marriage, either by himself or by Roger.  It was, indeed, very like a dream.  Probably Molly would have been rendered much more uncomfortable in the possession of her secret if Osborne had struck her as particularly attentive in his devotion to Cynthia.  She evidently amused and attracted him, but not in any lively or passionate kind of manner.  He admired her beauty, and seemed to feel her charm; but he would leave her side, and come to sit near Molly, if anything reminded him of his mother, about which he could talk to her, and to her alone.  Yet he came so often to the Gibsons’, that Mrs. Gibson might be excused for the fancy she had taken into her head, that it was for Cynthia’s sake.  He liked the lounge, the friendliness, the company of two intelligent girls of beauty and manners above the average; one of whom stood in a peculiar relation to him, as having been especially beloved by the mother whose memory he cherished so fondly.  Knowing himself to be out of the category of bachelors, he was, perhaps, too indifferent as to other people’s ignorance, and its possible consequences.

Somehow, Molly did not like to be the first to introduce Roger’s name into the conversation, so she lost many an opportunity of hearing intelligence about him.  Osborne was often so languid or so absent that he only followed the lead of talk; and as an awkward fellow, who had paid her no particular attention, and as a second son, Roger was not pre-eminent in Mrs. Gibson’s thoughts; Cynthia had never seen him, and the freak did not take her often to speak about him.  He had not come home since he had obtained his high place in the mathematical lists:  that Molly knew; and she knew, too, that he was working hard for something—­she supposed a fellowship—­and that was all.  Osborne’s tone in speaking of him was always the same:  every word, every inflexion of the voice breathed out affection and respect—­nay, even admiration!  And this from the nil admirari brother, who seldom carried his exertions so far.

‘Ah, Roger!’ he said one day.  Molly caught the name in an instant, though she had not heard what had gone before.  ’He is a fellow in a thousand—­in a thousand, indeed!  I don’t believe there is his match anywhere for goodness and real solid power combined.’

‘Molly,’ said Cynthia, after Mr. Osborne Hamley had gone, ’what sort of a man is this Roger Hamley?  One can’t tell how much to believe of his brother’s praises; for it is the one subject on which Osborne Hamley becomes enthusiastic.  I’ve noticed it once or twice before.’

While Molly hesitated on which point of the large round to begin her description, Mrs. Gibson struck in,—­