‘But about Cynthia?’

‘Oh, yes! about dear Cynthia.  What do you want to know, my dear?’

‘Papa said she was to live with us!  When will she come?’

’Oh, was it not sweet of your kind father?  I thought of nothing else but Cynthia’s going out as a governess when she had completed her education; she has been brought up for it, and has had great advantages.  But good dear Mr. Gibson wouldn’t hear of it.  He said yesterday that she must come and live with us when she left school.’

‘When will she leave school?’

’She went for two years.  I don’t think I must let her leave before next summer.  She teaches English as well as learning French.  Next summer she shall come home, and then shan’t we be a happy little quartette?’

‘I hope so,’ said Molly.  ’But she is to come to the wedding, isn’t she?’ she went on timidly, now knowing how far Mrs. Kirkpatrick would like the allusion to her marriage.

’Your father has begged for her to come; but we must think about it a little more before quite fixing it.  The journey is a great expense!’

‘Is she like you?  I do so want to see her.’

’She is very handsome, people say.  In the bright-coloured style,—­ perhaps something like what I was.  But I like the dark-haired foreign kind of beauty best—­just now,’ touching Molly’s hair, and looking at her with an expression of sentimental remembrance.

‘Does Cynthia—­is she very clever and accomplished?’ asked Molly, a little afraid lest the answer should remove Miss Kirkpatrick at too great a distance from her.

’She ought to be; I’ve paid ever so much money to have her taught by the best masters.  But you will see her before long, and I’m afraid we must go now to Lady Cumnor.  It has been very charming having you all to myself, but I know Lady Cumnor will be expecting us now, and she was very curious to see you,—­my future daughter, as she calls you.’

Molly followed Mrs. Kirkpatrick into the morning-room, where Lady Cumnor was sitting—­a little annoyed, because, having completed her toilette earlier than usual, Clare had not been aware by instinct of the fact, and so had not brought Molly Gibson for inspection a quarter of an hour before.  Every small occurrence is an event in the day of a convalescent invalid, and a little while ago Molly would have met with patronizing appreciation, where now she had to encounter criticism.  Of Lady Cumnor’s character as an individual she knew nothing; she only knew she was going to see and be seen by a live countess; nay, more, by ‘the countess’ of Hollingford.

Mrs. Kirkpatrick led her into Lady Cumnor’s presence by the hand, and in presenting her, said,—­’My dear little daughter, Lady Cumnor!’

’Now, Clare, don’t let me have nonsense.  She is not your daughter yet, and may never be,—­I believe that one-third of the engagements I have heard of, have never come to marriages.  Miss Gibson, I am very glad to see you, for your father’s sake; when I know you better, I hope it will be for your own.’