Again Cynthia was lost in thought; then, catching the echo of Molly’s last words in her mind, she said,—­

’"With whom?”—­oh! show fight with whom—­with my doom, to be sure.  Am not I a grand young lady to have a doom?  Why, Molly, child, how pale and grave you look!’ said she, kissing her all of a sudden.  ’You ought not to care so much for me; I’m not good enough for you to worry yourself about me.  I’ve given myself up a long time ago as a heartless baggage!’

‘Nonsense!  I wish you wouldn’t talk so, Cynthia!’

’And I wish you wouldn’t always take me “at the foot of the letter,” as an English girl at school used to translate it.  Oh, how hot it is!  Is it never going to get cool again?  My child! what dirty hands you’ve got, and face too; and I’ve been kissing you—­I daresay I’m dirty with it, too.  Now, isn’t that like one of mamma’s speeches?  But, for all that, you look more like a delving Adam than a spinning Eve.’

This had the effect that Cynthia intended; the daintily clean Molly became conscious of her soiled condition, which she had forgotten while she had been attending to Cynthia, and she hastily withdrew to her own room.  When she had gone, Cynthia noiselessly locked the door; and, taking her purse out of her desk, she began to count over her money.  She counted it once—­she counted it twice, as if desirous of finding out some mistake which should prove it to be more than it was; but the end of it all was a sigh.

‘What a fool!—­what a fool I was!’ she said, at length.  ’But even if I don’t go out as a governess, I shall make it up in time.’

Some weeks after the time he had anticipated when he had spoken of his departure to the Gibsons, Roger returned back to the Hall.  One morning when he called, Osborne told them that his brother had been at home for two or three days.

‘And why has he not come here, then?’ said Mrs. Gibson.  ’It is not kind of him not to come and see us as soon as he can.  Tell him I say so—­ pray do.’

Osborne had gained one or two ideas as to her treatment of Roger the last time he had called.  Roger had not complained of it, or even mentioned it, till that very morning; when Osborne was on the point of starting, and had urged Roger to accompany him, the latter had told him something of what Mrs. Gibson had said.  He spoke rather as if he was more amused than annoyed; but Osborne could read that he was chagrined at those restrictions placed upon calls which were the greatest pleasure of his life.  Neither of them let out the suspicion which had entered both their minds—­the well-grounded suspicion arising from the fact that Osborne’s visits, be they paid early or late, had never yet been met with a repulse.

Osborne now reproached himself with having done Mrs. Gibson injustice.  She was evidently a weak, but probably a disinterested, woman; and it was only a little bit of ill-temper on her part which had caused her to speak to Roger as she had done.