’I think—­I am afraid—­I don’t believe Mr. Gibson will like waiting so long; men are so impatient under these circumstances.’

’Oh, nonsense!  Lord Cumnor has recommended you to his tenants, and I’m sure he wouldn’t like them to be put to any inconvenience.  Mr Gibson will see that in a moment.  He’s a man of sense, or else he wouldn’t be our family doctor.  Now, what are you going to do about your little girl?  Have you fixed yet?’

’No.  Yesterday there seemed so little time, and when one is agitated it is so difficult to think of everything.  Cynthia is nearly eighteen, old enough to go out as a governess, if he wishes it, but I don’t think he will.  He is so generous and kind.’

’Well!  I must give you time to settle some of your affairs to-day.  Don’t waste it in sentiment, you’re too old for that.  Come to a clear understanding with each other; it will be for your happiness in the long run.’

So they did come to a clear understanding about one or two things.  To Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s dismay, she found that Mr. Gibson had no more idea than Lady Cumnor of her breaking faith with the parents of her pupils.  Though he really was at a serious loss as to what was to become of Molly until she could be under the protection of his new wife at her own home, and though his domestic worries teased him more and more every day, he was too honourable to think of persuading Mrs. Kirkpatrick to give up school a week sooner than was right for his sake.  He did not even perceive how easy the task of persuasion would be; with all her winning wiles she could scarcely lead him to feel impatience for the wedding to take place at Michaelmas.

’I can hardly tell you what a comfort and relief it will be to me, Hyacinth, when you are once my wife—­the mistress of my home—­poor little Molly’s mother and protector; but I wouldn’t interfere with your previous engagements for the world.  It wouldn’t be right.’

’Thank you, my own love.  How good you are!  So many men would think only of their own wishes and interests!  I’m sure the parents of my dear pupils will admire you—­will be quite surprised at your consideration for their interests.’

’Don’t tell them, then.  I hate being admired.  Why shouldn’t you say it is your wish to keep on your school till they’ve had time to look out for another?’

‘Because it isn’t,’ said she, daring all.  ’I long to be making you happy; I want to make your home a place of rest and comfort to you; and I do so wish to cherish your sweet Molly, as I hope to do, when I come to be her mother.  I can’t take virtue to myself which doesn’t belong to me.  If I have to speak for myself, I shall say, “Good people, find a school for your daughters by Michaelmas,—­for after that time I must go and make the happiness of others.”  I can’t bear to think of your long rides in November—­coming home wet at night with no one to take care of you.  Oh! if you leave it to me, I shall advise the parents to take their daughters away from the care of one whose heart will be absent.  Though I couldn’t consent to any time before Michaelmas—­that wouldn’t be fair or right, and I’m sure you wouldn’t urge me—­you are too good.’