‘Can you—­do you dare to compare Roger Hamley to Mr. Coxe?’ asked Molly, indignantly.

‘No, no, I don’t!’ said Cynthia in a moment.  ’They are as different as men can be.  Don’t be so dreadfully serious over everything, Molly.  You look as oppressed with sad reproach, as if I had been passing on to you the scolding your father gave me.’

‘Because I don’t think you value Roger as you ought, Cynthia!’ said Molly stoutly, for it required a good deal of courage to force herself to say this, although she could not tell why she shrank so from speaking.

’Yes, I do!  It’s not in my nature to go into ecstasies, and I don’t suppose I shall ever be what people call “in love.”  But I am glad he loves me, and I like to make him happy, and I think him the best and most agreeable man I know, always excepting your father when he is not angry with me.  What can I say more, Molly? would you like me to say I think him handsome?’

‘I know most people think him plain, but—­’

’Well, I’m of the opinion of most people then, and small blame to them.  But I like his face—­oh, ten thousand times better than Mr Preston’s handsomeness!’ For the first time during the conversation Cynthia seemed thoroughly in earnest.  Why Mr. Preston was introduced neither she nor Molly knew; it came up and out by a sudden impulse; but a fierce look came into the eyes, and the soft lips contracted themselves as Cynthia named his name.  Molly had noticed this look before, always at the mention of this one person.

‘Cynthia, what makes you dislike Mr. Preston so much?’

‘Don’t you?  Why do you ask me? and yet, Molly,’ said she, suddenly relaxing into depression, not merely in tone and look, but in the droop of her limbs—­’Molly, what should you think of me if I married him after all?’

‘Married him!  Has he ever asked you?’

But Cynthia, instead of replying to this question, went on, uttering her own thoughts,—­’More unlikely things have happened.  Have you never heard of strong wills mesmerizing weaker ones into submission?  One of the girls at Madame Lefevre’s went out as a governess to a Russian family, who lived near Moscow.  I sometimes think I’ll write to her to get me a situation in Russia, just to get out of the daily chance of seeing that man!’

‘But sometimes you seem quite intimate with him, and talk to him—­’

‘How can I help it?’ said Cynthia impatiently.  Then recovering herself she added:  ’We knew him so well at Ashcombe, and he’s not a man to be easily thrown off, I can tell you.  I must be civil to him; it’s not from liking, and he knows it is not, for I’ve told him so.  However, we won’t talk about him.  I don’t know how we came to do it, I’m sure:  the mere fact of his existence, and of his being within half a mile of us, is bad enough.  Oh!  I wish Roger was at home, and rich, and could marry me at once, and carry me away from that man!  If I’d thought of it, I really believe I would have taken poor red-haired Mr. Coxe.’