‘They are talking about France,’ said Roger, in answer to Molly’s unspoken question.  ’Osborne knows it well, and Miss Kirkpatrick has been at school there, you know.  It sounds very interesting; shall we go nearer and hear what they are saying?’

It was all very well to ask this civilly, but Molly thought it would have been better to wait for her answer.  Instead of waiting, however, Roger went to the piano, and, leaning on it, appeared to join in the light merry talk, while he feasted his eyes as much as he dared by looking at Cynthia.  Molly suddenly felt as if she could scarcely keep from crying—­a minute ago he had been so near to her, and talking so pleasantly and confidentially; and now he almost seemed as if he had forgotten her existence.  She thought that all this was wrong; and she exaggerated its wrongness to herself; ‘mean,’ and ‘envious of Cynthia,’ and ‘ill-natured,’ and ‘selfish,’ were the terms she kept applying to herself; but it did no good, she was just as naughty at the last as at the first.

Mrs. Gibson broke into the state of things which Molly thought was to endure for ever.  Her work had been intricate up to this time, and had required a great deal of counting; so she had had no time to attend to her duties, one of which she always took to be to show herself to the world as an impartial stepmother.  Cynthia had played and sung, and now she must give Molly her turn of exhibition.  Cynthia’s singing and playing was light and graceful, but anything but correct; but she herself was so charming, that it was only fanatics for music who cared for false chords and omitted notes.  Molly, on the contrary, had an excellent ear, if she had ever been well taught; and both from inclination and conscientious perseverance of disposition, she would go over an incorrect passage for twenty times.  But she was very shy of playing in company; and when forced to do it, she went through her performance heavily, and hated her handiwork more than any one.

‘Now, you must play a little, Molly,’ said Mrs. Gibson; ’play us that beautiful piece of Kalkbrenner’s,’ my dear.’

Molly looked up at her stepmother with beseeching eyes, but it only brought out another form of request, still more like a command.

’Go at once, my dear.  You may not play it quite rightly; and I know you are very nervous; but you’re quite amongst friends.’

So there was a disturbance made in the little group at the piano, and Molly sate down to her martyrdom.

‘Please, go away!’ said she to Osborne, who was standing behind her ready to turn over.  ’I can quite well do it for myself.  And oh! if you would but talk!’

Osborne remained where he was in spite of her appeal, and gave her what little approval she got; for Mrs. Gibson, exhausted by her previous labour of counting her stitches, fell asleep in her comfortable sofa-corner near the fire; and Roger, who began at first to talk a little in compliance with Molly’s request, found his tete-a-tete with Cynthia so agreeable, that Molly lost her place several times in trying to catch a sudden glimpse of Cynthia sitting at her work, and Roger by her, intent on catching her low replies to what he was saying.