’Then we may be quite sure he knows some way of explaining matters that we don’t,’ said Lady Harriet, decisively.  ’After all, there may be a hundred and fifty perfectly natural and justifiable explanations.’

‘Mr. Gibson knew of none when I thought it my duty to speak to him,’ said Miss Browning.

’Why, suppose that Mr. Preston is engaged to Miss Kirkpatrick, and Molly is confidante and messenger.’

’I don’t see that your ladyship’s supposition much alters the blame.  Why, if he is honourably engaged to Cynthia Kirkpatrick, does he not visit her openly at her home in Mr. Gibson’s house?  Why does Molly lend herself to clandestine proceedings?’

‘One can’t account for everything,’ said Lady Harriet, a little impatiently, for reason was going hard against her.  ’But I choose to have faith in Molly Gibson.  I’m sure she’s not done anything very wrong.  I’ve a great mind to go and call on her—­Mrs. Gibson is confined to her room with this horrid influenza—­and take her with me on a round of calls through this little gossipping town,—­on Mrs Goodenough, or Badenough, who seems to have been propagating all these stories.  But I’ve not time to-day.  I’ve to meet papa at three, and it’s three now.  Only remember, Miss Phoebe, it’s you and I against the world, in defence of a distressed damsel.’

‘Don Quixote and Sancho Panza!’ said she to herself as she ran lightly down Miss Browning’s old-fashioned staircase.

‘Now, I don’t think that’s pretty of you, Phoebe,’ said Miss Browning in some displeasure, as soon as she was alone with her sister.  ’First, you convince me against my will, and make me very unhappy; and I have to do unpleasant things, all because you’ve made me believe that certain statements are true; and then you turn round and cry, and say you don’t believe a word of it all, making me out a regular ogre and backbiter.  No! it’s of no use.  I shan’t listen to you.’  So she left Miss Phoebe in tears, and locked herself up in her own room.

Lady Harriet, meanwhile, was riding homewards by her father’s side, apparently listening to all he chose to say, but in reality turning over the probabilities and possibilities that might account for these strange interviews between Molly and Mr. Preston.  It was a case of parler de l’ane et l’on en voit les oreilles.  At a turn in the road they saw Mr. Preston a little way before them, coming towards them on his good horse, point device, in his riding attire.

The earl, in his thread-bare coat, and on his old brown cob, called out cheerfully,—­

’Aha! here’s Preston.  Good-day to you.  I was just wanting to ask you about that slip of pasture-land on the Home Farm.  John Brickkill wants to plough it up and crop it.  It’s not two acres at the best.’

While they were talking over this bit of land, Lady Harriet came to her resolution.  As soon as her father had finished, she said,—­

’Mr. Preston, perhaps you will allow me to ask you one or two questions to relieve my mind, for I am in some little perplexity at present.’