It was true that they had not seen anything of Osborne Hamley for a long time; but, as it often happens, just after they had been speaking about him he appeared.  It was on the day following on Mr Gibson’s departure that Mrs. Gibson had received one of the notes, not so common now as formerly, from the family in town asking her to go over to the Towers, and find a book, or a manuscript, or something or other that Lady Cumnor wanted with all an invalid’s impatience.  It was just the kind of employment she required for an amusement on a gloomy day, and it put her into a good humour immediately.  There was a certain confidential importance about it, and it was a variety, and it gave her the pleasant drive in a fly up the noble avenue, and the sense of being the temporary mistress of all the grand rooms once so familiar to her.  She asked Molly to accompany her, out of an access of kindness, but was not at all sorry when Molly excused herself and preferred stopping at home.  At eleven o’clock Mrs. Gibson was off, all in her Sunday best (to use the servant’s expression, which she herself would so have contemned), well-dressed in order to impose on the servants at the Towers, for there was no one else to be seen or to be seen by.

’I shall not be at home until the afternoon, my dear!  But I hope you will not find it dull.  I don’t think you will, for you are something like me, my love—­never less alone than when alone, as one of the great authors has justly expressed it.’

Molly enjoyed her house to herself to the full as much as Mrs. Gibson would enjoy having the Towers to herself.  She ventured on having her lunch brought upon a tray into the drawing-room, so that she might eat her sandwiches while she went on with her book.  In the middle, Mr. Osborne Hamley was announced.  He came in, looking wretchedly ill in spite of purblind Mrs. Goodenough’s report of his healthy appearance.

‘This call is not on you, Molly,’ said he, after the first greetings were over.  ’I was in hopes I might have found your father at home; I thought lunch-time was the best hour.’  He had sate down, as if thoroughly glad of the rest, and fallen into a languid stooping position, as if it had become so natural to him that no sense of what were considered good manners sufficed to restrain him now.

‘I hope you did not want to see him professionally?’ said Molly, wondering if she was wise in alluding to his health, yet urged to it by her real anxiety.

’Yes, I did.  I suppose I may help myself to a biscuit and a glass of wine?  No, don’t ring for more.  I could not eat it if it was here.  But I just want a mouthful; this is quite enough, thank you.  When will your father be back?’

’He was summoned up to London.  Lady Cumnor is worse.  I fancy there is some operation going on; but I don’t know.  He will be back to-morrow night.’

’Very well.  Then I must wait.  Perhaps I shall be better by that time.  I think it’s half fancy; but I should like your father to tell me so.  He will laugh at me, I daresay; but I don’t think I shall mind that.  He always is severe on fanciful patients, is not he, Molly?’