and more convinced that Clare had done very well for herself.  Cynthia now joined the party, pretty and elegant as she always was; but somehow she did not take Lady Harriet’s fancy; she only noticed her on account of her being her mother’s daughter.  Her presence made the conversation more general, and Lady Harriet gave out several pieces of news, none of them of any great importance to her, but as what had been talked about by the circle of visitors assembled at the Towers.

‘Lord Hollingford ought to have been with us,’ she said, amongst other things; ’but he is obliged, or fancies himself obliged, which is all the same thing, to stay in town about this Crichton legacy!’

‘A legacy?  To Lord Hollingford?  I am so glad!’

’Don’t be in a hurry to be glad!  It’s nothing for him but trouble.  Did not you hear of that rich eccentric Mr. Crichton, who died some time ago, and—­fired by the example of Lord Bridgewater, I suppose—­left a sum of money in the hands of trustees, of whom my brother is one, to send out a man with a thousand fine qualifications, to make a scientific voyage, with a view to bringing back specimens of the fauna of distant lands, and so forming the nucleus of a museum which is to be called the Crichton Museum, and so perpetuate the founder’s name.  Such various forms does man’s vanity take!  Sometimes it stimulates philanthropy; sometimes a love of science!’

‘It seems to me a very laudable and useful object, I am sure,’ said Mrs. Gibson, safely.

’I daresay it is, taking it from the public-good view.  But it is rather tiresome to us privately, for it keeps Hollingford in town—­or between it and Cambridge—­and each place as dull and empty as can be, just when we want him down at the Towers.  The thing ought to have been decided long ago, and there’s some danger of the legacy lapsing.  The two other trustees have run away to the Continent, feeling, as they say, the utmost confidence in him, but in reality shirking their responsibilities.  However, I believe he likes it, so I ought not to grumble.  He thinks he is going to be very successful in the choice of his man—­and he belongs to this county, too,—­young Hamley of Hamley, if he can only get his college to let him go, for he’s a Fellow of Trinity, Senior Wrangler or something; and they’re not so foolish as to send their crack man to be eaten up by lions and tigers!’

‘It must be Roger Hamley!’ exclaimed Cynthia, her eyes brightening, and her cheeks flushing.

‘He’s not the eldest son; he can scarcely be called Hamley of Hamley!’ said Mrs. Gibson.

‘Hollingford’s man is a Fellow of Trinity, as I said before.’

‘Then it is Mr. Roger Hamley,’ said Cynthia; ’and he’s up in London about some business!  What news for Molly when she comes home!’

‘Why, what has Molly to do with it?’ asked Lady Harriet.  ‘Is—?’ and she looked into Mrs. Gibson’s face for an answer.  Mrs. Gibson in reply gave an intelligent and very expressive glance at Cynthia, who however did not perceive it.