’Cynthia!  Dear child, where have you come from?  Why in the world have you come?  My poor nerves!  My heart is quite fluttering; but, to be sure, it’s no wonder with all this anxiety I have to undergo.  Why have you come back?’

’Because of the anxiety you speak of, mamma.  I never knew,—­you never told me how ill Molly was.’

’Nonsense.  I beg your pardon, my dear, but it’s really nonsense.  Molly’s illness is only nervous, Mr. Gibson says.  A nervous fever; but you must remember nerves are mere fancy, and she’s getting better.  Such a pity for you to have left your uncle’s.  Who told you about Molly?’

‘Lady Harriet.  She wrote about some wool—­’

’I know,—­I know.  But you might have known she always exaggerates things, Not but what I have been almost worn out with nursing.  Perhaps after all it is a very good thing you have come, my dear; and now you shall come down into the dining-room and have some lunch, and tell me all the Hyde Park Street news—­into my room,—­don’t go into yours yet—­ Molly is so sensitive to noise!’

While Cynthia ate her lunch, Mrs. Gibson went on questioning.  ’And your aunt, how is her cold?  And Helen, quite strong again?  Margaretta as pretty as ever?  The boys are at Harrow, I suppose?  And my old favourite, Mr. Henderson?’ She could not manage to slip in this last inquiry naturally; in spite of herself there was a change of tone, an accent of eagerness.  Cynthia did not reply on the instant; she poured herself out some water with great deliberation, and then said,—­

’My aunt is quite well; Helen is as strong as she ever is, and Margaretta very pretty.  The boys are at Harrow, and I conclude that Mr. Henderson is enjoying his usual health, for he was to dine at my uncle’s to-day.’

‘Take care, Cynthia.  Look how you are cutting that gooseberry tart,’ said Mrs. Gibson, with sharp annoyance; not provoked by Cynthia’s present action, although it gave excuse for a little vent of temper.  ’I can’t think how you could come off in this sudden kind of way; I am sure it must have annoyed your uncle and aunt.  I daresay they’ll never ask you again.’

’On the contrary, I am to go back there as soon as ever I can be easy to leave Molly.’

’"Easy to leave Molly.”  Now that really is nonsense, and rather uncomplimentary to me, I must say:  nursing her as I have been doing, daily, and almost nightly; for I have been wakened times out of number by Mr. Gibson getting up, and going to see if she had had her medicine properly.’

‘I am afraid she has been very ill?’ asked Cynthia.

’Yes, she has, in one way; but not in another.  It was what I call more a tedious, than an interesting illness.  There was no immediate danger, but she lay much in the same state from day to day.’

‘I wish I had known!’ sighed Cynthia.  ’Do you think I might go and see her now?’

’I’ll go and prepare her.  You’ll find her a good deal better than she has been.  Ah! here’s Mr. Gibson!’ He came into the dining-room, hearing voices.  Cynthia thought that he looked much older.