I have known some gentlemen annoyed beyond measure by the merest trifles; leaving a door open, or spilling tea in their saucers, or a shawl crookedly put on.  Why,’ continued she, lowering her voice, ’I know of a house to which Lord Hollingford will never be asked again because he didn’t wipe his shoes on both the mats in the hall!  Now you must tell me what your dear father dislikes most in these fanciful ways, and I shall take care to avoid it.  You must be my little friend and helper in pleasing him.  It will be such a pleasure to me to attend to his slightest fancies.  About my dress, too—­what colours does he like best?  I want to do everything in my power with a view to his approval.’

Molly was gratified by all this, and began to think that really, after all, perhaps her father had done well for himself; and that if she could help towards his new happiness, she ought to do it.  So she tried very conscientiously to think over Mr. Gibson’s wishes and ways; to ponder over what annoyed him the most in his household.

‘I think,’ said she, ’papa isn’t particular about many things; but I think our not having the dinner quite punctual—­quite ready for him when he comes in, fidgets him more than anything.  You see, he has often had a long ride, and there is another long ride to come, and he has only half-an-hour—­sometimes only a quarter—­to eat his dinner in.’

’Thank you, my own love.  Punctuality!  Yes; it’s a great thing in a household.  It’s what I’ve had to enforce with my young ladies at Ashcombe.  No wonder poor dear Mr. Gibson has been displeased at his dinner not being ready, and he so hard-worked!’

’Papa doesn’t care what he has, if it’s only ready.  He would take bread-and-cheese, if cook would only send it in instead of dinner.’

‘Bread-and-cheese!  Does Mr. Gibson eat cheese?’

‘Yes; he’s very fond of it,’ said Molly, innocently.  ’I’ve known him eat toasted cheese when he has been too tired to fancy anything else.’

’Oh! but, my dear, we must change all that.  I shouldn’t like to think of your father eating cheese; it’s such a strong-smelling, coarse kind of thing.  We must get him a cook who can toss him up an omelette, or something elegant.  Cheese is only fit for the kitchen.’

‘Papa is very fond of it,’ persevered Molly.

’Oh! but we will cure him of that.  I couldn’t bear the smell of cheese; and I’m sure he would be sorry to annoy me.’

Molly was silent; it did not do, she found, to be too minute in telling about her father’s likes or dislikes.  She had better leave them for Mrs. Kirkpatrick to find out for herself.  It was an awkward pause; each was trying to find something agreeable to say.  Molly spoke at length.  ’Please!  I should so like to know something about Cynthia—­your daughter.’

’Yes, call her Cynthia.  It’s a pretty name, isn’t it?  Cynthia Kirkpatrick.  Not so pretty, though, as my old name, Hyacinth Clare.  People used to say it suited me so well.  I must show you an acrostic a gentleman—­he was a lieutenant in the 53rd—­made upon it.  Oh! we shall have a great deal to say to each other, I foresee!’