‘Well—­and Molly—­’ said Mrs. Gibson, who piqued herself on being an impartial stepmother; and who always tried hard to make Molly talk as much as Cynthia—­’what sort of an evening have you had?’

‘Very pleasant, thank you.’  Her heart a little belied her as she said this.  She had not cared for the round game; and she would have cared for Roger’s conversation.  She had had what she was indifferent to, and not had what she would have liked.

‘We’ve had our unexpected visitor, too,’ said Mr. Gibson.  ’Just after dinner who should come in but Mr. Preston.  I fancy he’s having more of the management of the Hollingford property than formerly.  Sheepshanks is getting an old man.  And if so, I suspect we shall see a good deal of Preston.  He’s “no blate,” as they used to say in Scotland, and made himself quite at home to-night.  If I’d asked him to stay, or, indeed, if I’d done anything but yawn, he’d have been here now.  But I defy any man to stay when I have a fit of yawning.’

‘Do you like Mr. Preston, papa?’ asked Molly.

’About as much as I do half the men I meet.  He talks well, and has seen a good deal.  I know very little of him, though, except that he’s my lord’s steward, which is a guarantee for a good deal.’

’Lady Harriet spoke pretty strongly against him that day I was with her at the Manor-house.’

’Lady Harriet’s always full of fancies:  she likes persons to-day, and dislikes them to-morrow,’ said Mrs. Gibson, who was touched on her sore point whenever Molly quoted Lady Harriet, or said anything to imply ever so transitory an intimacy with her.

’You must know a good deal about Mr. Preston, my dear?  I suppose you saw a good deal of him at Ashcombe?’

Mrs. Gibson coloured, and looked at Cynthia before she replied.  Cynthia’s face was set into a determination not to speak, however much she might be referred to.

’Yes; we saw a good deal of him—­at one time, I mean.  He’s changeable, I think.  But he always sent us game, and sometimes fruit.  There were some stories against him, but I never believed them.’

‘What kind of stories?’ said Mr. Gibson, quickly.

’Oh, vague stories, you know:  scandal, I daresay.  No one ever believed them.  He could be so agreeable if he chose; and my lord, who is so very particular, would never have kept him as agent if they were true; not that I ever knew what they were, for I consider all scandal as abominable gossip.’

‘I’m very glad I yawned in his face,’ said Mr. Gibson.  ’I hope he’ll take the hint.’

’If it was one of your giant-gapes, papa, I should call it more than a hint,’ said Molly.  ’And if you want a yawning chorus the next time he comes, I’ll join in; won’t you, Cynthia?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied the latter, shortly, as she lighted her bed-candle.  The two girls had usually some nightly conversation in one or other of their bed-rooms; but to-night Cynthia said something or other about being terribly tired, and hastily shut her door.