’Ah, Molly, you must let my goodness lie fallow for a while!  It has borne such a wonderful crop this year.  I have been so pretty-behaved—­ if you knew all!’ Or, ’Really, Molly, my virtue must come down from the clouds!  It was strained to the utmost in London—­and I find it is like a kite—­after soaring aloft for some time, it suddenly comes down, and gets tangled in all sorts of briars and brambles; which things are an allegory, unless you can bring yourself to believe in my extraordinary goodness while I was away—­giving me a sort of right to fall foul of all mamma’s briars and brambles now.’

But Molly had had some experience of Cynthia’s whim of perpetually hinting at a mystery which she did not mean to reveal in the Mr Preston days, and, although she was occasionally piqued into curiosity, Cynthia’s allusions at something more in the background fell in general on rather deaf ears.  One day the mystery burst its shell, and came out in the shape of an offer made to Cynthia by Mr Henderson—­and refused.  Under all the circumstances, Molly could not appreciate the heroic goodness so often alluded to.  The revelation of the secret at last took place in this way.  Mrs. Gibson breakfasted in bed:  she had done so ever since she had had the influenza; and, consequently, her own private letters always went up on her breakfast-tray.  One morning she came into the drawing-room earlier than usual, with an open letter in her hand.

’I’ve had a letter from aunt Kirkpatrick, Cynthia.  She sends me my dividends,—­your uncle is so busy.  But what does she mean by this, Cynthia’ (holding out the letter to her, with a certain paragraph indicated by her finger).  Cynthia put her netting on one side, and looked at the writing.  Suddenly her face turned scarlet, and then became of a deadly white.  She looked at Molly, as if to gain courage from the strong serene countenance.

’It means—­mamma, I may as well tell you at once—­Mr. Henderson offered to me while I was in London, and I refused him.’

’Refused him—­and you never told me, but let me hear it by chance!  Really, Cynthia, I think you’re very unkind.  And pray what made you refuse Mr. Henderson?  Such a fine young man,—­and such a gentleman!  Your uncle told me he had a very good private fortune besides.’

‘Mamma, do you forget that I have promised to marry Roger Hamley?’ said Cynthia quietly.

’No! of course I don’t—­how can I, with Molly always dinning the word “engagement” into my ears?  But really, when one considers all the uncertainties,—­and after all it was not a distinct promise,—­he seemed almost as if he might have looked forward to something of this sort.’

‘Of what sort, mamma?’ said Cynthia sharply.

’Why, of a more eligible offer.  He must have known you might change your mind, and meet with some one you liked better:  so little as you had seen of the world.’  Cynthia made an impatient movement, as if to stop her mother.