‘Betty has left us,’ said Molly, sadly.  ’She’s gone to live at a place at Ashcombe.’

He made a face of dismay, and then went off to his duties.  The short conversation had been very pleasant, and his manner had had just the brotherly kindness of old times; but it was not quite the manner he had to Cynthia; and Molly half thought she would have preferred the latter.  He was now hovering about Cynthia, who had declined the offer of refreshments from Willie Osborne.  Roger was tempting her, and with playful entreaties urging her to take something from him.  Every word they said could be heard by the whole room; yet every word was said, on Roger’s part at least, as if he could not have spoken it in that peculiar manner to any one else.  At length, and rather more because she was weary of being entreated, than because it was his wish, Cynthia took a macaroon, and Roger seemed as happy as though she had crowned him with flowers.  The whole affair was as trifling and commonplace as could be in itself hardly worth noticing:  and yet Molly did notice it, and felt uneasy; she could not tell why.  As it turned out, it was a rainy night, and Mrs. Gibson sent a fly for the two girls instead of old Betty’s substitute.  Both Cynthia and Molly thought of the possibility of their taking the two Osborne girls back to their grandmother’s, and so saving them a wet walk; but Cynthia got the start in speaking about it; and the thanks and the implied praise for thoughtfulness were hers.

When they got home Mr. and Mrs. Gibson were sitting in the drawing-room, quite ready to be amused by any details of the evening.

Cynthia began,—­

‘Oh! it wasn’t very entertaining.  One didn’t expect that,’ and she yawned wearily.

‘Who were there?’ asked Mr. Gibson.  ‘Quite a young party—­wasn’t it?’

’They’d only asked Lizzie and Fanny Osborne, and their brother; but Mr. Roger Hamley had ridden over and called on the Miss Brownings, and they had kept him to tea.  No one else.’

‘Roger Hamley there!’ said Mr. Gibson.  ’He’s come home then.  I must make time to ride over and see him.’

‘You’d much better ask him here,’ said Mrs. Gibson.  ’Suppose you invite him and his brother to dine here on Friday, my dear?  It would be a very pretty attention, I think.’

’My dear! these young Cambridge men have a very good taste in wine, and don’t spare it.  My cellar won’t stand many of their attacks.’

‘I didn’t think you were so inhospitable, Mr. Gibson.’

’I’m not inhospitable, I’m sure.  If you’ll put “bitter beer” in the corner of your notes of invitation, just as the smart people put “quadrilles” as a sign of entertainment offered, we’ll have Osborne and Roger to dinner any day you like.  And what did you think of my favourite, Cynthia?  You hadn’t seen him before, I think?’

’Oh! he’s nothing like so handsome as his brother; nor so polished; nor so easy to talk to.  He entertained me for more than an hour with a long account of some examination or other; but there’s something one likes about him.’