’Oh, no! not at all’—­and Mrs. Gibson nodded a little at her daughter, as much as to say, ‘If any one, that.’

Lady Harriet began to look at the pretty Miss Kirkpatrick with fresh interest; her brother had spoken in such a manner of this young Mr Hamley that every one connected with the Phoenix was worthy of observation.  Then, as if the mention of Molly’s name had brought her afresh into her mind, Lady Harriet said,—­’And where is Molly all this time?  I should like to see my little mentor.  I hear she is very much grown since those days.’

’Oh! when she once gets gossipping with the Miss Brownings, she never knows when to come home,’ said Mrs. Gibson.

’The Miss Brownings?  Oh!  I am so glad you named them!  I am very fond of them.  Pecksy and Flapsy; I may call them so in Molly’s absence.  I’ll go and see them before I go home, and then perhaps I shall see my dear little Molly too.  Do you know, Clare, I have quite taken a fancy to that girl!’

So Mrs. Gibson, after all her precautions, had to submit to Lady Harriet’s leaving her half-an-hour earlier than she otherwise would have done in order to ‘make herself common’ (as Mrs. Gibson expressed it) by calling on the Miss Brownings.

But Molly had left before Lady Harriet arrived.

Molly went the long walk to the Holly Farm to order the damsons out of a kind of penitence.  She had felt conscious of anger at being sent out of the house by such a palpable manoeuvre as that which her stepmother had employed.  Of course she did not meet Cynthia, so she went alone along the pretty lanes, with grassy sides and high hedge-banks not at all in the style of modern agriculture.  At first she made herself uncomfortable with questioning herself as to how far it was right to leave unnoticed the small domestic failings—­the webs, the distortions of truth which had prevailed in their household ever since her father’s second marriage.  She knew that very often she longed to protest, but did not do it, from the desire of sparing her father any discord; and she saw by his face that he, too, was occasionally aware of certain things that gave him pain, as showing that his wife’s standard of conduct was not as high as he would have liked.  It was a wonder to Molly if this silence was right or wrong.  With a girl’s want of toleration, and want of experience to teach her the force of circumstances, and of temptation, she had often been on the point of telling her stepmother some forcible home truths.  But possibly her father’s example of silence, and often some piece of kindness on Mrs. Gibson’s part (for after her way, and when in a good temper, she was very kind to Molly), made her hold her tongue.

That night at dinner Mrs. Gibson recounted the conversation between herself and Lady Harriet, giving it a very strong individual colouring, as was her wont, and telling nearly the whole of what had passed, although implying that there was a great deal said that was so purely confidential, that she was bound in honour not to repeat it.  Her three auditors listened to her without interrupting her much—­indeed, without bestowing extreme attention on what she was saying, until she came to the fact of Lord Hollingford’s absence in London, and the reason for it.