appetite so much better than the rich and heavy viands prepared by the servants at the Hall.  Osborne was becoming a little afraid of falling into the habit of paying too frequent visits to the Gibsons (and that, not because he feared the consequences of his intercourse with the two young ladies; for he never thought of them excepting as friends;—­the fact of his marriage was constantly present to his mind, and Aimee too securely enthroned in his heart, for him to remember that he might be looked upon by others in the light of a possible husband); but the reflection forced itself upon him occasionally, whether he was not trespassing too often on hospitality which he had at present no means of returning.

But Mrs. Gibson, in her ignorance of the true state of affairs, was secretly exultant in the attraction which made him come so often and lounge away the hours in their house and garden.  She had no doubt that it was Cynthia who drew him to the house; and if the latter had been a little more amenable to reason, her mother would have made more frequent allusions than she did to the crisis which she thought was approaching.  But she was restrained by the intuitive conviction that if her daughter became conscious of what was impending, and was made aware of Mrs. Gibson’s cautious and quiet efforts to forward the catastrophe, the wilful girl would oppose herself to it with all her skill and power.  As it was, Mrs. Gibson trusted that Cynthia’s affections would become engaged before she knew where she was, and that in that case she would not attempt to frustrate her mother’s delicate scheming, even though she did perceive it.  But Cynthia had come across too many varieties of flirtation, admiration, and even passionate love, to be for a moment at fault as to the quiet friendly nature of Osborne’s attentions.  She received him always as a sister might a brother.  It was different when Roger returned from his election as Fellow of Trinity.  The trembling diffidence, the hardly suppressed ardour of his manner, made Cynthia understand before long with what kind of love she had now to deal.  She did not put it into so many words—­no, not even in her secret heart—­but she recognized the difference between Roger’s relation to her and Osborne’s, long before Mrs. Gibson found it out.  Molly was, however, the first to discover the nature of Roger’s attraction.  The first time they saw him after the ball, it came out to her observant eyes.  Cynthia had not been looking well since that evening; she went slowly about the house, pale and heavy-eyed; and, fond as she usually was of exercise and the free fresh air, there was hardly any persuading her now to go out for a walk.  Molly watched this fading with tender anxiety, but to all her questions as to whether she had felt over-fatigued with her dancing, whether anything had occurred to annoy her, and all such inquiries, she replied in languid negatives.  Once Molly touched on Mr. Preston’s name, and found that this was a subject on which Cynthia