‘Hush,’ said Mrs. Hamley, seeing in Molly’s eyes and change of colour how completely this was a new idea to her.  But the squire was not so easily stopped.

’Well—­I’d perhaps better not have said it, but it’s the truth; they did.  He’s not likely to marry now, so one may say it out.  Why, your father is past forty, isn’t he?’

‘Forty-three.  I don’t believe he ever thought of marrying again,’ said Molly, recurring to the idea, as one does to that of danger which has passed by, without one’s being aware of it.

’No!  I don’t believe he did my dear.  He looks to me just like a man who would be constant to the memory of his wife.  You must not mind what the squire says.’

’Ah! you’d better go away, if you’re going to teach Miss Gibson such treason as that against the master of the house.’  Molly went into the drawing-room with Mrs. Hamley, but her thoughts did not change with the room.  She could not help dwelling on the danger which she fancied she had escaped, and was astonished at her own stupidity at never having imagined such a possibility as her father’s second marriage.  She felt that she was answering Mrs. Hamley’s remarks in a very unsatisfactory manner.

‘There is papa, with the squire!’ she suddenly exclaimed.  There they were coming across the flower-garden from the stable-yard, her father switching his boots with his riding whip, in order to make them presentable in Mrs. Hamley’s drawing-room.  He looked so exactly like his usual self, his home-self, that the seeing him in the flesh was the most efficacious way of dispelling the phantom fears of a second wedding, which were beginning to harass his daughter’s mind; and the pleasant conviction that he could not rest till he had come over to see how she was going on in her new home, stole into her heart, although he spoke but little to her, and that little was all in a joking tone.  After he had gone away, the squire undertook to teach her cribbage; and she was happy enough now to give him all her attention.  He kept on prattling while they played; sometimes in relation to the cards; at others telling her of small occurrences which he thought might interest her.

’So you don’t know my boys, even by sight.  I should have thought you would have done, for they are fond enough of riding into Hollingford; and I know Roger has often enough been to borrow books from your father.  Roger is a scientific sort of a fellow.  Osborne is clever, like this mother.  I should not wonder if he published a book some day.  You’re not counting right, Miss Gibson.  Why, I could cheat you as easily as possible.’  And so on, till the butler came in with a solemn look, placed a large prayer-book before his master, who huddled the cards away in a hurry, as if caught in an incongruous employment; and then the maids and men trooped in to prayers—­the windows were still open, and the sounds of the solitary corncrake, and the owl hooting in the trees, mingled with the words spoken.  Then to bed; and so ended the day.