And so in mute opposition on Molly’s side, in polite indifference, scarcely verging on kindliness on his, Roger and she steered clear of each other.  He had many occupations in which he needed no companionship, even if she had been qualified to give it.  The worst was, that she found he was in the habit of occupying the library, her favourite retreat, in the mornings before Mrs. Hamley came down.  She opened the half-closed door a day or two after his return home, and found him busy among books and papers, with which the large leather-covered table was strewn; and she softly withdrew before he could turn his head and see her, so as to distinguish her from one of the housemaids.  He rode out every day, sometimes with his father about the outlying fields, sometimes far away for a good gallop.  Molly would have enjoyed accompanying him on these occasions, for she was very fond of riding; and there had been some talk of sending for her habit and grey pony when first she came to Hamley; only the squire, after some consideration, had said he so rarely did more than go slowly from one field to another, where his labourers were at work, that he feared she would find such slow work—­ten minutes riding through heavy land, twenty minutes sitting still on horseback, listening to the directions he should have to give to his men—­rather dull.  Now, when if she had had her pony here she might have ridden out with Roger, without giving him any trouble—­she would have taken care of that—­nobody seemed to think of renewing the proposal.  Altogether it was pleasanter before he came home.

Her father came over pretty frequently; sometimes there were long unaccountable absences, it was true; when his daughter began to fidget after him, and to wonder what had become of him.  But when he made his appearance he had always good reasons to give; and the right she felt that she had to his familiar household tenderness; the power she possessed of fully understanding the exact value of both his words and his silence, made these glimpses of intercourse with him inexpressibly charming.  Latterly her burden had always been, ’When may I come home, papa?’ It was not that she was unhappy, or uncomfortable; she was passionately fond of Mrs. Hamley, she was a favourite of the squire’s, and could not as yet fully understand why some people were so much afraid of him; and as for Roger, if he did not add to her pleasure, he scarcely took away from it.  But she wanted to be at home once more.  The reason why she could not tell; but this she knew full well.  Mr. Gibson reasoned with her till she was weary of being completely convinced that it was right and necessary for her to stay where she was.  And then with an effort she stopped the cry upon her tongue, for she saw that its repetition harassed her father.