They dined at a small table in a great large room.  There were so few articles of furniture in it, and the apartment itself was so vast, that Molly longed for the snugness of the home dining-room; nay, it is to be feared that, before the stately dinner at Hamley Hall came to an end, she even regretted the crowded chairs and tables, the hurry of eating, the quick unformal manner in which everybody seemed to finish their meal as fast as possible, and to return to the work they had left.  She tried to think that at six o’clock all the business of the day was ended, and that people might linger if they chose.  She measured the distance from the sideboard to the table with her eye, and made allowances for the men who had to carry things backwards and forwards; but, all the same, this dinner appeared to her a wearisome business, prolonged because the squire liked it, for Mrs. Hamley seemed tired out.  She ate even less than Molly, and sent for fan and smelling—­ bottle to amuse herself with, until at length the table-cloth was cleared away, and the dessert was put upon a mahogany table, polished like a looking-glass.

The squire had hitherto been too busy to talk, except about the immediate concerns of the table, and one or two of the greatest breaks to the usual monotony of his days; a monotony in which he delighted, but which sometimes became oppressive to his wife.  Now, however, peeling his orange, he turned to Molly,—­

‘To-morrow you’ll have to do this for me Miss Gibson.’

‘Shall I?  I’ll do it to-day, if you like, sir.’

’No; to-day I shall treat you as a visitor, with all proper ceremony.  To-morrow I shall send you errands, and call you by your Christian name.’

‘I shall like that,’ said Molly.

‘I was wanting to call you something less formal than Miss Gibson,’ said Mrs. Hamley.

’My name is Molly.  It is an old-fashioned name, and I was christened Mary.  But papa likes Molly.’

‘That’s right.  Keep to the good old fashions, my dear.’

’Well, I must say I think Mary is prettier than Molly, and quite as old a name, too,’ said Mrs. Hamley.

‘I think it was,’ said Molly, lowering her voice, and dropping her eyes, ‘because mamma was Mary, and I was called Molly while she lived.’

‘Ah, poor thing,’ said the squire, not perceiving his wife’s signs to change the subject, ’I remember how sorry every one was when she died; no one thought she was delicate, she had such a fresh colour, till all at once she popped off, as one may say.’

‘It must have been a terrible blow to your father,’ said Mrs. Hamley, seeing that Molly did not know what to answer.

‘Ay, ay.  It came so sudden, so soon after they were married.’

‘I thought it was nearly four years,’ said Molly.

’And four years is soon—­is a short time to a couple who look to spending their lifetime together.  Every one thought Gibson would have married again.’