Wives and Daughters

by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

  CHAPTER VI.

  A VISIT TO THE HAMLEYS.

  Of course the news of Miss Gibson's approaching departure had spreadthrough the household before the one o'clock dinner-time came; andMr. Coxe's dismal countenance was a source of much inward irritationto Mr. Gibson, who kept giving the youth sharp glances of savagereproof for his melancholy face, and want of appetite; which hetrotted out, with a good deal of sad ostentation all of which waslost upon Molly, who was too full of her own personal concerns tohave any thought or observation to spare from them, excepting once ortwice when she thought of the many days that must pass over beforeshe should again sit down to dinner with her father.

  When she named this to him after the meal was over, and they weresitting together in the drawing-room, waiting for the sound of thewheels of the Hamley carriage, he laughed, and said,--

  "I'm coming over to-morrow to see Mrs. Hamley; and I daresay I shalldine at their lunch; so you won't have to wait long before you've thetreat of seeing the wild beast feed."

  Then they heard the approaching carriage.

  "Oh, papa," said Molly, catching at his hand, "I do so wish I wasn'tgoing, now that the time is come."

  "Nonsense; don't let us have any sentiment. Have you got your keys?that's more to the purpose."

  Yes; she had got her keys, and her purse; and her little box wasput up on the seat by the coachman; and her father handed her in;the door was shut, and she drove away in solitary grandeur, lookingback and kissing her hand to her father, who stood at the gate, inspite of his dislike of sentiment, as long as the carriage couldbe seen. Then he turned into the surgery, and found Mr. Coxe hadhad his watching too, and had, indeed, remained at the windowgazing, moonstruck, at the empty road, up which the young lady haddisappeared. Mr. Gibson startled him from his reverie by a sharp,almost venomous, speech about some small neglect of duty a day or twobefore. That night Mr. Gibson insisted on passing by the bedside of apoor girl whose parents were worn-out by many wakeful anxious nightssucceeding to hard-working days.

  Molly cried a little, but checked her tears as soon as she rememberedhow annoyed her father would have been at the sight of them. Itwas very pleasant driving quickly along in the luxurious carriage,through the pretty green lanes, with dog-roses and honeysuckles soplentiful and rathe in the hedges, that she once or twice was temptedto ask the coachman to stop till she had gathered a nosegay. Shebegan to dread the end of her little journey of seven miles; the onlydrawback to which was, that her silk was not a true clan-tartan, anda little uncertainty as to Miss Rose's punctuality. At length theycame to a village; straggling cottages lined the road, an old churchstood on a kind of green, with the public-house close by it; therewas a great tree, with a bench all round the trunk, midway betweenthe church gates and the little inn. The wooden stocks were close tothe gates. Molly had long passed the limit of her rides, but she knewthis must be the village of Hamley, and that they must be very nearto the hall.

  They swung in at the gates of the park in a few minutes, and drove upthrough meadow-grass, ripening for hay,--it was no grand aristocraticdeer-park this--to the old red-brick hall; not three hundred yardsfrom the high-road. There had been no footman sent with the carriage,but a respectable servant stood at the door, even before they drewup, ready to receive the expected visitor, and take her into thedrawing-room where his mistress lay awaiting her.

  Mrs. Hamley rose from her sofa to give Molly a gentle welcome; shekept the girl's hand in hers after she had finished speaking, lookinginto her face, as if studying it, and unconscious of the faint blushshe called up on the otherwise colourless cheeks.

  "I think we shall be great friends," said she, at length. "I likeyour face, and I am always guided by first impressions. Give me akiss, my dear."

  It was far easier to be active than passive during this process of"swearing eternal friendship," and Molly willingly kissed the sweetpale face held up to her.

  "I meant to have gone and fetched you myself; but the heat oppressesme, and I did not feel up to the exertion. I hope you had a pleasantdrive?"

  "Very," said Molly, with shy conciseness.

  "And now I will take you to your room; I have had you put close tome; I thought you would like it better, even though it was a smallerroom than the other."

  She rose languidly, and wrapping her light shawl round her yetelegant figure, led the way upstairs. Molly's bedroom openedout of Mrs. Hamley's private sitting-room; on the other side ofwhich was her own bedroom. She showed Molly this easy means ofcommunication, and then, telling her visitor she would await her inthe sitting-room, she closed the door, and Molly was left at leisureto make acquaintance with her surroundings.

  First of all, she went to the window to see what was to be seen.A flower-garden right below; a meadow of ripe grass just beyond,changing colour in long sweeps, as the soft wind blew over it; greatold forest-trees a little on one side; and, beyond them again, to beseen only by standing very close to the side of the window-sill, orby putting her head out, if the window was open, the silver shimmerof a mere, about a quarter of a mile off. On the opposite side to thetrees and the mere, the look-out was bounded by the old walls andhigh-peaked roofs of the extensive farm-buildings. The deliciousnessof the early summer silence was only broken by the song of the birds,and the nearer hum of bees. Listening to these sounds, which enhancedthe exquisite sense of stillness, and puzzling out objects obscuredby distance or shadow, Molly forgot herself, and was suddenlystartled into a sense of the present by a sound of voices in thenext room--some servant or other speaking to Mrs. Hamley. Mollyhurried to unpack her box, and arrange her few clothes in thepretty old-fashioned chest of drawers, which was to serve heras dressing-table as well. All the furniture in the room was asold-fashioned and as well-preserved as it could be. The chintzcurtains were Indian calico of the last century--the colours almostwashed out, but the stuff itself exquisitely clean. There was alittle strip of bedside carpeting, but the wooden flooring, thusliberally displayed, was of finely-grained oak, so firmly joined,plank to plank, that no grain of dust could make its way into theinterstices. There were none of the luxuries of modern days; nowriting-table, or sofa, or pier-glass. In one corner of the walls wasa bracket, holding an Indian jar filled with pot-pourri; and that andthe climbing honeysuckle outside the open window scented the roommore exquisitely than any toilette perfumes. Molly laid out her whitegown (of last year's date and size) upon the bed, ready for the (toher new) operation of dressing for dinner, and having arranged herhair and dress, and taken out her company worsted-work, she openedthe door softly, and saw Mrs. Hamley lying on the sofa.

  "Shall we stay up here, my dear? I think it is pleasanter thandown below; and then I shall not have to come upstairs again atdressing-time."

  "I shall like it very much," replied Molly.

  "Ah! you've got your sewing, like a good girl," said Mrs. Hamley."Now, I don't sew much. I live alone a great deal. You see, bothmy boys are at Cambridge, and the squire is out of doors all daylong--so I have almost forgotten how to sew. I read a great deal. Doyou like reading?"

  "It depends upon the kind of book," said Molly. "I'm afraid I don'tlike 'steady reading,' as papa calls it."

  "But you like poetry!" said Mrs. Hamley, almost interrupting Molly."I was sure you did, from your face. Have you read this last poem ofMrs. Hemans? Shall I read it aloud to you?"

  So she began. Molly was not so much absorbed in listening but thatshe could glance round the room. The character of the furniture wasmuch the same as in her own. Old-fashioned, of handsome material,and faultlessly clean, the age and the foreign appearance of it gavean aspect of comfort and picturesqueness to the whole apartment. Onthe walls there hung some crayon sketches--portraits. She thoughtshe could make out that one of them was a likeness of Mrs. Hamley,in her beautiful youth. And then she became interested in the poem,and dropped her work, and listened in a manner that was after Mrs.Hamley's own heart. When the reading of the poem was ended, Mrs.Hamley replied to some of Molly's words of admiration,
by saying:

  "Ah! I think I must read you some of Osborne's poetry some day; underseal of secrecy, remember; but I really fancy they are almost as goodas Mrs. Hemans'."

  To be nearly as good as Mrs. Hemans' was saying as much to the youngladies of that day, as saying that poetry is nearly as good asTennyson's would be in this. Molly looked up with eager interest.

  "Mr. Osborne Hamley? Does your son write poetry?"

  "Yes. I really think I may say he is a poet. He is a very brilliant,clever young man, and he quite hopes to get a fellowship at Trinity.He says he is sure to be high up among the wranglers, and thathe expects to get one of the Chancellor's medals. That is hislikeness--the one hanging against the wall behind you."

  Molly turned round, and saw one of the crayon sketches--representingtwo boys, in the most youthful kind of jackets and trousers, andfalling collars. The elder was sitting down, reading intently.The younger was standing by him, and evidently trying to call theattention of the reader off to some object out of doors--out ofthe window of the very room in which they were sitting, as Mollydiscovered when she began to recognize the articles of furniturefaintly indicated in the picture.

  "I like their faces!" said Molly. "I suppose it is so long ago now,that I may speak of their likenesses to you as if they were somebodyelse; may not I?"

  "Certainly," said Mrs. Hamley, as soon as she understood what Mollymeant. "Tell me just what you think of them, my dear; it will amuseme to compare your impressions with what they really are."

  "Oh! but I did not mean to guess at their characters. I could not doit; and it would be impertinent, if I could. I can only speak abouttheir faces as I see them in the picture."

  "Well! tell me what you think of them!"

  "The eldest--the reading boy--is very beautiful; but I can't quitemake out his face yet, because his head is down, and I can't see theeyes. That is the Mr. Osborne Hamley who writes poetry."

  "Yes. He is not quite so handsome now; but he was a beautiful boy.Roger was never to be compared with him."

  "No; he is not handsome. And yet I like his face. I can see his eyes.They are grave and solemn-looking; but all the rest of his face israther merry than otherwise. It looks too steady and sober, too gooda face, to go tempting his brother to leave his lesson."

  "Ah! but it was not a lesson. I remember the painter, Mr. Green, oncesaw Osborne reading some poetry, while Roger was trying to persuadehim to come out and have a ride in the hay-cart--that was the'motive' of the picture, to speak artistically. Roger is not much ofa reader; at least, he doesn't care for poetry, and books of romance,or sentiment. He is so fond of natural history; and that takes him,like the squire, a great deal out of doors; and when he is in, he isalways reading scientific books that bear upon his pursuits. He is agood, steady fellow, though, and gives us great satisfaction, but heis not likely to have such a brilliant career as Osborne."

  Molly tried to find out in the picture the characteristics of thetwo boys, as they were now explained to her by their mother; and inquestions and answers about the various drawings hung round the roomthe time passed away until the dressing-bell rang for the six o'clockdinner.

  Molly was rather dismayed by the offers of the maid whom Mrs. Hamleyhad sent to assist her. "I am afraid they expect me to be verysmart," she kept thinking to herself. "If they do, they'll bedisappointed; that's all. But I wish my plaid silk gown had beenready."

  She looked at herself in the glass with some anxiety, for the firsttime in her life. She saw a slight, lean figure, promising to betall; a complexion browner than cream-coloured, although in a year ortwo it might have that tint; plentiful curly black hair, tied up in abunch behind with a rose-coloured ribbon long, almond-shaped, softgray eyes, shaded both above and below by curling black eyelashes.

  "I don't think I am pretty," thought Molly, as she turned away fromthe glass; "and yet I'm not sure." She would have been sure, if,instead of inspecting herself with such solemnity, she had smiled herown sweet merry smile, and called out the gleam of her teeth, and thecharm of her dimples.

  She found her way downstairs into the drawing-room in good time;she could look about her, and learn how to feel at home in hernew quarters. The room was forty-feet long or so, fitted up withyellow satin at some distant period; high spindle-legged chairs andpembroke-tables abounded. The carpet was of the same date as thecurtains, and was thread-bare in many places; and in others wascovered with drugget. Stands of plants, great jars of flowers,old Indian china and cabinets gave the room the pleasant aspectit certainly had. And to add to it, there were five high, longwindows on one side of the room, all opening to the prettiestbit of flower-garden in the grounds--or what was considered assuch--brilliant-coloured, geometrically-shaped beds, convergingto a sun-dial in the midst. The Squire came in abruptly, and inhis morning dress; he stood at the door, as if surprised at thewhite-robed stranger in possession of his hearth. Then, suddenlyremembering himself, but not before Molly had begun to feel very hot,he said--

  "Why, God bless my soul, I'd quite forgotten you; you're Miss Gibson,Gibson's daughter, aren't you? Come to pay us a visit? I'm sure I'mvery glad to see you, my dear."

  By this time, they had met in the middle of the room, and he wasshaking Molly's hand with vehement friendliness, intended to make upfor his not knowing her at first.

  "I must go and dress, though," said he, looking at his soiledgaiters. "Madam likes it. It's one of her fine London ways, and she'sbroken me into it at last. Very good plan, though, and quite rightto make oneself fit for ladies' society. Does your father dress fordinner, Miss Gibson?" He did not stay to wait for her answer, buthastened away to perform his toilette.

  They dined at a small table in a great large room. There were so fewarticles of furniture in it, and the apartment itself was so vast,that Molly longed for the snugness of the home dining-room; nay,it is to be feared that, before the stately dinner at Hamley Hallcame to an end, she even regretted the crowded chairs and tables,the hurry of eating, the quick unformal manner in which everybodyseemed to finish their meal as fast as possible, and to return to thework they had left. She tried to think that at six o'clock all thebusiness of the day was ended, and that people might linger if theychose. She measured the distance from the sideboard to the table withher eye, and made allowances for the men who had to carry thingsbackwards and forwards; but, all the same, this dinner appeared toher a wearisome business, prolonged because the Squire liked it, forMrs. Hamley seemed tired out. She ate even less than Molly, and sentfor fan and smelling-bottle to amuse herself with, until at lengththe table-cloth was cleared away, and the dessert was put upon amahogany table, polished like a looking-glass.

  The Squire had hitherto been too busy to talk, except about theimmediate concerns of the table, and one or two of the greatestbreaks to the usual monotony of his days; a monotony in which hedelighted, but which sometimes became oppressive to his wife. Now,however, peeling his orange, he turned to Molly--

  "To-morrow you'll have to do this for me, Miss Gibson."

  "Shall I? I'll do it to-day, if you like, sir."

  "No; to-day I shall treat you as a visitor, with all proper ceremony.To-morrow I shall send you errands, and call you by your Christianname."

  "I shall like that," said Molly.

  "I was wanting to call you something less formal than Miss Gibson,"said Mrs. Hamley.

  "My name is Molly. It is an old-fashioned name, and I was christenedMary. But papa likes Molly."

  "That's right. Keep to the good old fashions, my dear."

  "Well, I must say I think Mary is prettier than Molly, and quite asold a name, too," said Mrs. Hamley.

  "I think it was," said Molly, lowering her voice, and dropping hereyes, "because mamma was Mary, and I was called Molly while shelived."

  "Ah, poor thing," said the squire, not perceiving his wife's signsto change the subject, "I remember how sorry every one was when shedied; no one thought she was delicate, she had such a fresh colour,till all at once she popped off, as one may
say."

  "It must have been a terrible blow to your father," said Mrs. Hamley,seeing that Molly did not know what to answer.

  "Ay, ay. It came so sudden, so soon after they were married."

  "I thought it was nearly four years," said Molly.

  "And four years is soon--is a short time to a couple who look tospending their lifetime together. Every one thought Gibson would havemarried again."

  "Hush," said Mrs. Hamley, seeing in Molly's eyes and change of colourhow completely this was a new idea to her. But the squire was not soeasily stopped.

  "Well--I'd perhaps better not have said it, but it's the truth; theydid. He's not likely to marry now, so one may say it out. Why, yourfather 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 dangerwhich 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 manwho would be constant to the memory of his wife. You must not mindwhat the squire says."

  "Ah! you'd better go away, if you're going to teach Miss Gibson suchtreason as that against the master of the house."

  Molly went into the drawing-room with Mrs. Hamley, but her thoughtsdid not change with the room. She could not help dwelling on thedanger which she fancied she had escaped, and was astonished ather own stupidity at never having imagined such a possibility asher 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 theywere coming across the flower-garden from the stable-yard, her fatherswitching his boots with his riding whip, in order to make thempresentable in Mrs. Hamley's drawing-room. He looked so exactly likehis usual self, his home-self, that the seeing him in the flesh wasthe most efficacious way of dispelling the phantom fears of a secondwedding, which were beginning to harass his daughter's mind; and thepleasant conviction that he could not rest till he had come overto 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 ajoking tone. After he had gone away, the Squire undertook to teachher cribbage, and she was happy enough now to give him all herattention. He kept on prattling while they played; sometimes inrelation to the cards; at others telling her of small occurrenceswhich he thought might interest her.

  "So you don't know my boys, even by sight. I should have thought youwould have done, for they're fond enough of riding into Hollingford;and I know Roger has often enough been to borrow books from yourfather. Roger is a scientific sort of a fellow. Osborne is clever,like his mother. I shouldn't wonder if he published a book some day.You're not counting right, Miss Gibson. Why, I could cheat you aseasily as possible." And so on, till the butler came in with a solemnlook, placed a large prayer-book before his master, who huddled thecards away in a hurry, as if caught in an incongruous employment; andthen the maids and men trooped in to prayers--the windows were stillopen, and the sounds of the solitary corncrake, and the owl hootingin the trees, mingled with the words spoken. Then to bed; and soended the day.

  Molly looked out of her chamber window--leaning on the sill, andsnuffing up the night odours of the honeysuckle. The soft velvetdarkness hid everything that was at any distance from her; althoughshe was as conscious of their presence as if she had seen them.

  "I think I shall be very happy here," was in Molly's thoughts, as sheturned away at length, and began to prepare for bed. Before long theSquire's words, relating to her father's second marriage, came acrossher, and spoilt the sweet peace of her final thoughts. "Who could hehave married?" she asked herself. "Miss Eyre? Miss Browning? MissPhoebe? Miss Goodenough?" One by one, each of these was rejectedfor sufficient reasons. Yet the unsatisfied question rankled in hermind, and darted out of ambush to disturb her dreams.

  Mrs. Hamley did not come down to breakfast; and Molly found outwith a little dismay, that the Squire and she were to have it bythemselves. On this first morning he put aside his newspapers--onean old established Tory journal, with all the local and countynews, which was the most interesting to him; the other the _MorningChronicle_, which he called his dose of bitters, and which called outmany a strong expression and tolerably pungent oath. To-day, however,he was "on his manners," as he afterwards explained to Molly; and heplunged about, trying to find ground for a conversation. He couldtalk of his wife and his sons, his estate, and his mode of farming;his tenants, and the mismanagement of the last county election.Molly's interests were her father, Miss Eyre, her garden and pony;in a fainter degree Miss Brownings, the Cumnor Charity School, andthe new gown that was to come from Miss Rose's; into the midst ofwhich the one great question, "Who was it that people thought it waspossible papa might marry?" kept popping up into her mouth, like atroublesome Jack-in-the-box. For the present, however, the lid wassnapped down upon the intruder as often as he showed his head betweenher teeth. They were very polite to each other during the meal; andit was not a little tiresome to both. When it was ended the Squirewithdrew into his study to read the untasted newspapers. It wasthe custom to call the room in which Squire Hamley kept his coats,boots, and gaiters, his different sticks and favourite spud, hisgun and fishing-rods, "the study." There was a bureau in it, and athree-cornered arm-chair, but no books were visible. The greater partof them were kept in a large, musty-smelling room, in an unfrequentedpart of the house; so unfrequented that the housemaid often neglectedto open the window-shutters, which looked into a part of the groundsover-grown with the luxuriant growth of shrubs. Indeed, it was atradition in the servants' hall that, in the late squire's time--hewho had been plucked at college--the library windows had been boardedup to avoid paying the window-tax. And when the "young gentlemen"were at home the housemaid, without a single direction to thateffect, was regular in her charge of this room; opened the windowsand lighted fires daily, and dusted the handsomely-bound volumes,which were really a very fair collection of the standard literaturein the middle of the last century. All the books that had beenpurchased since that time were held in small book-cases betweeneach two of the drawing-room windows, and in Mrs. Hamley's ownsitting-room upstairs. Those in the drawing-room were quite enough toemploy Molly; indeed, she was so deep in one of Sir Walter Scott'snovels that she jumped as if she had been shot, when an hour or soafter breakfast the Squire came to the gravel-path outside one of thewindows, and called to ask her if she would like to come out of doorsand go about the garden and home-fields with him.

  "It must be a little dull for you, my girl, all by yourself, withnothing but books to look at, in the mornings here; but you see,madam has a fancy for being quiet in the mornings: she told yourfather about it, and so did I, but I felt sorry for you all the same,when I saw you sitting on the ground all alone in the drawing-room."

  Molly had been in the very middle of the _Bride of Lammermoor_, andwould gladly have stayed in-doors to finish it, but she felt thesquire's kindness all the same. They went in and out of old-fashionedgreenhouses, over trim lawns, the Squire unlocked the great walledkitchen-garden, and went about giving directions to gardeners; andall the time Molly followed him like a little dog, her mind quitefull of "Ravenswood" and "Lucy Ashton." Presently, every place nearthe house had been inspected and regulated, and the Squire was moreat liberty to give his attention to his companion, as they passedthrough the little wood that separated the gardens from the adjoiningfields. Molly, too, plucked away her thoughts from the seventeenthcentury; and, somehow or other, that one question, which had sohaunted her before, came out of her lips before she was aware--aliteral impromptu,--

  "Who did people think papa would marry? That time--long ago--soonafter mamma died?"

  She dropped her voice very soft and low, as she spoke the last words.The Squire turned round upon her, and looked at her face, he knew notwhy. It was very grave, a little pale, but her steady eyes almostcommanded some kind of answer.

  "Whew," said he, whistling to gain tim
e; not that he had anythingdefinite to say, for no one had ever had any reason to join Mr.Gibson's name with any known lady: it was only a loose conjecturethat had been hazarded on the probabilities--a young widower, with alittle girl.

  "I never heard of any one--his name was never coupled with anylady's--'twas only in the nature of things that he should marryagain; he may do it yet, for aught I know, and I don't think it wouldbe a bad move either. I told him so, the last time but one he washere."

  "And what did he say?" asked breathless Molly.

  "Oh: he only smiled and said nothing. You shouldn't take up words soseriously, my dear. Very likely he may never think of marrying again,and if he did, it would be a very good thing both for him and foryou!"

  Molly muttered something, as if to herself, but the Squire might haveheard it if he had chosen. As it was, he wisely turned the current ofthe conversation.

  "Look at that!" he said, as they suddenly came upon the mere, orlarge pond. There was a small island in the middle of the glassywater, on which grew tall trees, dark Scotch firs in the centre,silvery shimmering willows close to the water's edge. "We must getyou punted over there, some of these days. I'm not fond of using theboat at this time of the year, because the young birds are still inthe nests among the reeds and water-plants; but we'll go. There arecoots and grebes."

  "Oh, look, there's a swan!"

  "Yes; there are two pair of them here. And in those trees there'sboth a rookery and a heronry; the herons ought to be here by now, forthey're off to the sea in August, but I've not seen one yet. Stay!isn't that one--that fellow on a stone, with his long neck bent down,looking into the water?"

  "Yes! I think so. I have never seen a heron, only pictures of them."

  "They and the rooks are always at war, which doesn't do for such nearneighbours. If both herons leave the nest they are building, therooks come and tear it to pieces; and once Roger showed me a longstraggling fellow of a heron, with a flight of rooks after him, withno friendly purpose in their minds, I'll be bound. Roger knows a dealof natural history, and finds out queer things sometimes. He'd havebeen off a dozen times during this walk of ours, if he'd been here:his eyes are always wandering about, and see twenty things where Ionly see one. Why! I've known him bolt into a copse because he sawsomething fifteen yards off--some plant, maybe, which he'd tell mewas very rare, though I should say I'd seen its marrow at every turnin the woods; and, if we came upon such a thing as this," touchinga delicate film of a cobweb upon a leaf with his stick, as he spoke,"why, he could tell you what insect or spider made it, and if itlived in rotten fir-wood, or in a cranny of good sound timber, ordeep down in the ground, or up in the sky, or anywhere. It's a pitythey don't take honours in Natural History at Cambridge. Roger wouldbe safe enough if they did."

  "Mr. Osborne Hamley is very clever, is he not?" Molly asked, timidly.

  "Oh, yes. Osborne's a bit of a genius. His mother looks for greatthings from Osborne. I'm rather proud of him myself. He'll get aTrinity fellowship, if they play him fair. As I was saying at themagistrates' meeting yesterday, 'I've got a son who will make a noiseat Cambridge, or I'm very much mistaken.' Now, isn't it a queer quipof Nature," continued the squire, turning his honest face towardsMolly, as if he was going to impart a new idea to her, "that I, aHamley of Hamley, straight in descent from nobody knows where--theHeptarchy, they say--What's the date of the Heptarchy?"

  "I don't know," said Molly, startled at being thus appealed to.

  "Well! it was some time before King Alfred, because he was theKing of all England, you know; but, as I was saying, here am I, ofas good and as old a descent as any man in England, and I doubtif a stranger, to look at me, would take me for a gentleman, withmy red face, great hands and feet, and thick figure, fourteenstone, and never less than twelve even when I was a young man; andthere's Osborne, who takes after his mother, who couldn't tell hergreat-grandfather from Adam, bless her; and Osborne has a girl'sdelicate face, and a slight make, and hands and feet as small as alady's. He takes after madam's side, who, as I said, can't tell whowas her grandfather. Now, Roger is like me, a Hamley of Hamley, andno one who sees him in the street will ever think that red-brown,big-boned, clumsy chap is of gentle blood. Yet all those Cumnorpeople, you make such ado of in Hollingford, are mere muck ofyesterday. I was talking to madam the other day about Osborne'smarrying a daughter of Lord Hollingford's--that's to say, if he hada daughter--he's only got boys, as it happens; but I'm not sure ifI should consent to it. I really am not sure; for you see Osbornewill have had a first-rate education, and his family dates from theHeptarchy, while I should be glad to know where the Cumnor folk werein the time of Queen Anne?" He walked on, pondering the question ofwhether he could have given his consent to this impossible marriage;and after some time, and when Molly had quite forgotten the subjectto which he alluded, he broke out with--"No! I'm sure I should havelooked higher. So, perhaps, it's as well my Lord Hollingford has onlyboys."

  After a while, he thanked Molly for her companionship, withold-fashioned courtesy; and told her that he thought, by this time,madam would be up and dressed, and glad to have her young visitorwith her. He pointed out the deep purple house, with its stonefacings, as it was seen at some distance between the trees, andwatched her protectingly on her way along the field-paths.

  "That's a nice girl of Gibson's," quoth he to himself. "But what atight hold the wench got of the notion of his marrying again! One hadneed be on one's guard as to what one says before her. To think ofher never having thought of the chance of a stepmother. To be sure, astepmother to a girl is a different thing to a second wife to a man!"