Molly was rather dismayed by the offers of the maid whom Mrs. Hamley had sent to assist her.  ‘I am afraid they expect me to be very smart,’ she kept thinking to herself.  ’If they do, they’ll be disappointed; that’s all.  But I wish my plaid silk gown had been ready.’

She looked at herself in the glass with some anxiety, for the first time in her life.  She saw a slight, lean figure, promising to be tall; a complexion browner than cream-coloured, although in a year or two it might have that tint; plentiful curly black hair, tied up in a bunch behind with a rose—­coloured ribbon; long, almond-shaped, soft grey eyes, shaded both above and below by curling black eye-lashes.

‘I don’t think I am pretty,’ thought Molly, as she turned away from the glass; ‘and yet I am not sure.’  She would have been sure, if, instead of inspecting herself with such solemnity, she had smiled her own sweet merry smile, and called out the gleam of her teeth, and the charm of her dimples.

She found her way downstairs into the drawing-room in good time; she could look about her, and learn how to feel at home in her new quarters.  The room was forty-feet long or so, fitted up with yellow satin at some distant period; high spindle-legged chairs and pembroke-tables abounded.  The carpet was of the same date as the curtains, and was threadbare in many places; and in others was covered with drugget.  Stands of plants, great jars of flowers, old Indian china and cabinets gave the room the pleasant aspect it certainly had.  And to add to it, there were five high, long windows on one side of the room, all opening to the prettiest bit of flower-garden in the grounds—­or what was considered as such—­brilliant-coloured, geometrically-shaped beds, converging to a sun-dial in the midst.  The squire came in abruptly, and in his morning dress; he stood at the door, as if surprised at the white-robed stranger in possession of his hearth.  Then, suddenly remembering himself, but not before Molly had begun to feel very hot, he said,—­

’Why, God bless my soul, I’d quite forgotten you; you’re Miss Gibson, Gibson’s daughter, aren’t you?  Come to pay us a visit?  I’m sure I’m very glad to see you, my dear.’

By this time, they had met in the middle of the room, and he was shaking Molly’s hand with vehement friendliness, intended to make up for his not knowing her at first.

‘I must go and dress, though,’ he said, looking at his soiled gaiters.  ’Madam likes it.  It’s one of her fine London ways, and she’s broken me into it at last.  Very good plan, though, and quite right to make oneself fit for ladies’ society.  Does your father dress for dinner, Miss Gibson?’ He did not stay to wait for her answer, but hastened away to perform his toilette.