for once seemed to befriend her; for, on their entering Grinstead’s shop, in which two or three people were now, as always, congregated, making play of examining the books, or business of writing down the titles of new works in the order-book, there was Mr. Preston.  He bowed as they came in.  He could not help that; but, at the sight of Molly, he looked as ill-tempered and out of humour as a man well could do.  She was connected in his mind with defeat and mortification; and besides, the sight of her called up what he desired now above all things to forget; namely, the deep conviction received through Molly’s simple earnestness, of Cynthia’s dislike to him.  If Miss Phoebe had seen the scowl upon his handsome face, she might have undeceived her sister in her suppositions about him and Molly.  But Miss Phoebe, who did not consider it quite maidenly to go and stand close to Mr. Preston, and survey the shelves of books in such close proximity to a gentleman, found herself an errand at the other end of the shop, and occupied herself in buying writing-paper.  Molly fingered her valuable letter, as it lay in her pocket; did she dare to cross over to Mr. Preston, and give it to him, or not?  While she was still undecided, shrinking always just at the moment when she thought she had got her courage up for action, Miss Phoebe, having finished her purchase, turned round, and after looking a little pathetically at Mr. Preston’s back, said to Molly in a whisper,—­’I think we’ll go to Johnson’s now, and come back for the books in a little while.’  So across the street to Johnson’s they went; but no sooner had they entered the draper’s shop, than Molly’s conscience smote her for her cowardice, and loss of a good opportunity.  ‘I’ll be back directly,’ said she, as soon as Miss Phoebe was engaged with her purchases; and Molly ran across to Grinstead’s, without looking either to the right or the left; she had been watching the door, and she knew that no Mr. Preston had issued forth.  She ran in; he was at the counter now, talking to Grinstead himself, Molly put the letter into his hand, to his surprise, and almost against his will, and turned round to go back to Miss Phoebe.  At the door of the shop stood Mrs. Goodenough, arrested in the act of entering, staring, with her round eyes, made still rounder and more owl-like by spectacles, to see Molly Gibson giving Mr. Preston a letter, which he, conscious of being watched, and favouring underhand practices habitually, put quickly into his pocket, unopened.  Perhaps, if he had had time for reflection he would not have scrupled to put Molly to open shame, by rejecting what she so eagerly forced upon him.

There was another long evening to be got through with Mrs. Gibson; but on this occasion there was the pleasant occupation of dinner, which took up at least an hour; for it was one of Mrs. Gibson’s fancies—­one which Molly chafed against—­to have every ceremonial gone through in the same stately manner for two as for twenty.  So, although Molly knew full well, and her stepmother knew full well, and Maria knew full well, that neither Mrs. Gibson nor Molly touched dessert, it was set on the table with as much form as if Cynthia had been at home, who delighted in almonds and raisins; or Mr. Gibson been there, who never could resist dates, although he always protested against ’persons in their station of life having a formal dessert set out before them every day.’