CHAPTER XXXV.
THE MOTHER'S MANOEUVRE.
Mr. Gibson was not at home at dinner--detained by some patient, mostprobably. This was not an unusual occurrence; but it _was_ rather anunusual occurrence for Mrs. Gibson to go down into the dining-room,and sit with him as he ate his deferred meal when he came in an houror two later. In general, she preferred her easy-chair, or her cornerof the sofa, upstairs in the drawing-room, though it was very rarelythat she would allow Molly to avail herself of her stepmother'sneglected privilege. Molly would fain have gone down and kept herfather company every night that he had these solitary meals; but forpeace and quietness she gave up her own wishes on the matter.
Mrs. Gibson took a seat by the fire in the dining-room, and patientlywaited for the auspicious moment when Mr. Gibson, having satisfiedhis healthy appetite, turned from the table, and took his place byher side. She got up, and with unaccustomed attention moved the wineand glasses so that he could help himself without moving from hischair.
"There, now! are you comfortable? for I have a great piece of news totell you!" said she, when all was arranged.
"I thought there was something on hand," said he, smiling. "Now forit!"
"Roger Hamley has been here this afternoon to bid us good-by."
"Good-by! Is he gone? I didn't know he was going so soon!" exclaimedMr. Gibson.
"Yes: never mind, that's not it."
"But tell me; has he left this neighbourhood? I wanted to have seenhim."
"Yes, yes. He left love and regret, and all that sort of thingfor you. Now let me get on with my story: he found Cynthia alone,proposed to her, and was accepted."
"Cynthia? Roger proposed to her, and she accepted him?" repeated Mr.Gibson, slowly.
"Yes, to be sure. Why not? you speak as if it was something so verysurprising."
"Did I? But I am surprised. He's a very fine young fellow, and Iwish Cynthia joy; but do you like it? It will have to be a very longengagement."
"Perhaps," said she, in a knowing manner.
"At any rate he will be away for two years," said Mr. Gibson.
"A great deal may happen in two years," she replied.
"Yes! he will have to run many risks, and go into many dangers, andwill come back no nearer to the power of maintaining a wife than whenhe went out."
"I don't know that," she replied, still in the arch manner of onepossessing superior knowledge. "A little bird did tell me thatOsborne's life is not so very secure; and then--what will Roger be?Heir to the estate."
"Who told you that about Osborne?" said he, facing round upon her,and frightening her with his sudden sternness of voice and manner.It seemed as if absolute fire came out of his long dark sombre eyes."_Who_ told you, I say?"
She made a faint rally back into her former playfulness.
"Why? can you deny it? Is it not the truth?"
"I ask you again, Hyacinth, who told you that Osborne Hamley's lifeis in more danger than mine--or yours?"
"Oh, don't speak in that frightening way. My life is not in danger,I'm sure; nor yours either, love, I hope."
He gave an impatient movement, and knocked a wine-glass off thetable. For the moment she felt grateful for the diversion, andbusied herself in picking up the fragments: "bits of glass were sodangerous," she said. But she was startled by a voice of command,such as she had never yet heard from her husband.
"Never mind the glass. I ask you again, Hyacinth, who told youanything about Osborne Hamley's state of health?"
"I am sure I wish no harm to him, and I daresay he is in very goodhealth, as you say," whispered she, at last.
"Who told--?" began he again, sterner than ever.
"Well, if you will know, and will make such a fuss about it," saidshe, driven to extremity, "it was you yourself--you or Dr. Nicholls,I am sure I forget which."
"I never spoke to you on the subject, and I don't believe Nichollsdid. You'd better tell me at once what you're alluding to, for I'mresolved I'll have it out before we leave this room."
"I wish I'd never married again," she said, now fairly crying, andlooking round the room, as if in vain search for a mouse-hole inwhich to hide herself. Then, as if the sight of the door into thestore-room gave her courage, she turned and faced him.
"You should not talk your medical secrets so loud then, if you don'twant people to hear them. I had to go into the store-room that dayDr. Nicholls was here; cook wanted a jar of preserve, and stopped mejust as I was going out--I am sure it was for no pleasure of mine,for I was sadly afraid of stickying my gloves--it was all that youmight have a comfortable dinner."
She looked as if she was going to cry again, but he gravely motionedher to go on, merely saying,--
"Well! you overheard our conversation, I suppose?"
"Not much," she answered eagerly, almost relieved by being thushelped out in her forced confession. "Only a sentence or two."
"What were they?" he asked.
"Why, you had just been saying something, and Dr. Nicholls said, 'Ifhe has got aneurism of the aorta his days are numbered.'"
"Well. Anything more?"
"Yes; you said, 'I hope to God I may be mistaken; but there is apretty clear indication of symptoms, in my opinion.'"
"How do you know we were speaking of Osborne Hamley?" he asked;perhaps in hopes of throwing her off the scent. But as soon as sheperceived that he was descending to her level of subterfuge, she tookcourage, and said in quite a different tone to the cowed one whichshe had been using:
"Oh! I know. I heard his name mentioned by you both before I began tolisten."
"Then you own you did listen?"
"Yes," said she, hesitating a little now.
"And pray how do you come to remember so exactly the name of thedisease spoken of?"
"Because I went--now don't be angry, I really can't see any harm inwhat I did--"
"Then, don't deprecate anger. You went--"
"Into the surgery, and looked it out. Why might not I?"
Mr. Gibson did not answer--did not look at her. His face was verypale, and both forehead and lips were contracted. At length he rousedhimself, sighed, and said,--
"Well! I suppose as one brews one must bake."
"I don't understand what you mean," pouted she.
"Perhaps not," he replied. "I suppose that it was what you heard onthat occasion that made you change your behaviour to Roger Hamley?I've noticed how much more civil you were to him of late."
"If you mean that I have ever got to like him as much as Osborne,you are very much mistaken; no, not even though he has offered toCynthia, and is to be my son-in-law."
"Let me know the whole affair. You overheard,--I will own that it wasOsborne about whom we were speaking, though I shall have something tosay about that presently--and then, if I understand you rightly, youchanged your behaviour to Roger, and made him more welcome to thishouse than you had ever done before, regarding him as proximate heirto the Hamley estates?"
"I don't know what you mean by 'proximate.'"
"Go into the surgery, and look into the dictionary, then," said he,losing his temper for the first time during the conversation.
"I knew," said she through sobs and tears, "that Roger had takena fancy to Cynthia; any one might see that; and as long as Rogerwas only a younger son, with no profession, and nothing but hisfellowship, I thought it right to discourage him, as any one wouldwho had a grain of common sense in them; for a clumsier, more common,awkward, stupid fellow I never saw--to be called 'county,' I mean."
"Take care; you'll have to eat your words presently when you come tofancy he'll have Hamley some day."
"No, I shan't," said she, not perceiving his exact drift. "You arevexed now because it is not Molly he's in love with; and I call itvery unjust and unfair to my poor fatherless girl. I am sure I havealways tried to further Molly's interests as if she was my owndaughter."
Mr. Gibson was too indifferent to this accusation to take any noticeof it. He returned to what was of far more importance to
him.
"The point I want to be clear about is this. Did you or did you notalter your behaviour to Roger in consequence of what you overheard ofmy professional conversation with Dr. Nicholls? Have you not favouredhis suit to Cynthia since then, on the understanding gathered fromthat conversation that he stood a good chance of inheriting Hamley?"
"I suppose I did," said she, sulkily. "And if I did, I can'tsee any harm in it, that I should be questioned as if I werein a witness-box. He was in love with Cynthia long before thatconversation, and she liked him so much. It was not for me to crossthe path of true love. I don't see how you would have a mother showher love for her child if she may not turn accidental circumstancesto her advantage. Perhaps Cynthia might have died if she had beencrossed in love; her poor father was consumptive."
"Don't you know that all professional conversations are confidential?That it would be the most dishonourable thing possible for me tobetray secrets which I learn in the exercise of my profession?"
"Yes, of course, you."
"Well! and are not you and I one in all these respects? You cannot doa dishonourable act without my being inculpated in the disgrace. Ifit would be a deep disgrace for me to betray a professional secret,what would it be for me to trade on that knowledge?"
He was trying hard to be patient; but the offence was of that classwhich galled him insupportably.
"I don't know what you mean by trading. Trading in a daughter'saffections is the last thing I should do; and I should have thoughtyou would be rather glad than otherwise to get Cynthia well married,and off your hands."
Mr. Gibson got up, and walked about the room, his hands in hispockets. Once or twice he began to speak, but he stopped impatientlyshort without going on.
"I don't know what to say to you," he said at length. "You eithercan't or won't see what I mean. I'm glad enough to have Cynthia here.I have given her a true welcome, and I sincerely hope she will findthis house as much a home as my own daughter does. But for the futureI must look out of my doors, and double-lock the approaches if I amso foolish as to-- However, that's past and gone; and it remains withme to prevent its recurrence as far as I can for the future. Now letus hear the present state of affairs."
"I don't think I ought to tell you anything about it. It is a secret,just as much as your mysteries are."
"Very well; you have told me enough for me to act upon, which Imost certainly shall do. It was only the other day I promised theSquire to let him know if I suspected anything--any love affair, orentanglement, much less an engagement, between either of his sons andour girls."
"But this is not an engagement; he would not let it be so; if youwould only listen to me, I could tell you all. Only I do hope youwon't go and tell the Squire and everybody. Cynthia did so beg thatit might not be known. It is only my unfortunate frankness that hasled me into this scrape. I never could keep a secret from those whomI love."
"I must tell the Squire. I shall not mention it to any one else. Anddo you quite think it was consistent with your general frankness tohave overheard what you did, and never to have mentioned it to me?I could have told you then that Dr. Nicholls' opinion was decidedlyopposed to mine, and that he believed that the disturbance aboutwhich I consulted him on Osborne's behalf was merely temporary. Dr.Nicholls would tell you that Osborne is as likely as any man to liveand marry and beget children."
If there was any skill used by Mr. Gibson so to word this speechas to conceal his own opinion, Mrs. Gibson was not sharp enough tofind it out. She was dismayed, and Mr. Gibson enjoyed her dismay; itrestored him to something like his usual frame of mind.
"Let us review this misfortune, for I see you consider it as such,"said he.
"No, not quite a misfortune," said she. "But, certainly, if I hadknown Dr. Nicholls' opinion--" she hesitated.
"You see the advantage of always consulting me," he continuedgravely. "Here is Cynthia engaged--"
"Not engaged, I told you before. He would not allow it to beconsidered an engagement on her part."
"Well, entangled in a love-affair with a lad of three-and-twenty,with nothing beyond his fellowship and a chance of inheriting anencumbered estate; no profession even, abroad for two years, andI must go and tell his father all about it to-morrow."
"Oh dear! Pray say that, if he dislikes it, he has only to expresshis opinion."
"I don't think you can act without Cynthia in the affair. And if I amnot mistaken, Cynthia will have a pretty stout will of her own on thesubject."
"Oh, I don't think she cares for him very much; she is not one to bealways falling in love, and she does not take things very deeply toheart. But, of course, one would not do anything abruptly; two years'absence gives one plenty of time to turn oneself in."
"But a little while ago we were threatened with consumption and anearly death if Cynthia's affections were thwarted."
"Oh, you dear creature, how you remember all my silly words! It mightbe, you know. Poor dear Mr. Kirkpatrick was consumptive, and Cynthiamay have inherited it, and a great sorrow might bring out the latentseeds. At times I am so fearful. But I daresay it is not probable,for I don't think she takes things very deeply to heart."
"Then I'm quite at liberty to give up the affair, acting as Cynthia'sproxy, if the Squire disapproves of it?"
Poor Mrs. Gibson was in a strait at this question.
"No!" she said at last. "We cannot give it up. I am sure Cynthiawould not; especially if she thought others were acting for her. Andhe really is very much in love. I wish he were in Osborne's place."
"Shall I tell you what I should do?" said Mr. Gibson, in realearnest. "However it may have been brought about, here are two youngpeople in love with each other. One is as fine a young fellow as everbreathed; the other a very pretty, lively, agreeable girl. The fatherof the young man must be told, and it is most likely he will blusterand oppose; for there is no doubt it is an imprudent affair as far asmoney goes. But let them be steady and patient, and a better lot needawait no young woman. I only wish it were Molly's good fortune tomeet with such another."
"I will try for her; I will indeed," said Mrs. Gibson, relieved byhis change of tone.
"No, don't. That's one thing I forbid. I'll have no 'trying' forMolly."
"Well, don't be angry, dear! Do you know I was quite afraid you weregoing to lose your temper at one time."
"It would have been of no use!" said he, gloomily, getting up as ifto close the sitting. His wife was only too glad to make her escape.The conjugal interview had not been satisfactory to either. Mr.Gibson had been compelled to face and acknowledge the fact, that thewife he had chosen had a very different standard of conduct fromthat which he had upheld all his life, and had hoped to have seeninculcated in his daughter. He was more irritated than he chose toshow; for there was so much of self-reproach in his irritation thathe kept it to himself, brooded over it, and allowed a feeling ofsuspicious dissatisfaction with his wife to grow up in his mind,which extended itself by-and-by to the innocent Cynthia, andcaused his manner to both mother and daughter to assume a certaincurt severity, which took the latter at any rate with extremesurprise. But on the present occasion he followed his wife up to thedrawing-room, and gravely congratulated the astonished Cynthia.
"Has mamma told you?" said she, shooting an indignant glance at hermother. "It is hardly an engagement; and we all pledged ourselves tokeep it a secret, mamma among the rest!"
"But, my dearest Cynthia, you could not expect--you could not havewished me to keep a secret from my husband?" pleaded Mrs. Gibson.
"No, perhaps not. At any rate, sir," said Cynthia, turning towardshim with graceful frankness, "I am glad you should know it. You havealways been a most kind friend to me, and I daresay I should havetold you myself, but I did not want it named; if you please, it muststill be a secret. In fact, it is hardly an engagement--he" (sheblushed and sparkled a little at the euphuism, which implied thatthere was but one "he" present in her thoughts at the moment) "wouldnot allow me to bind myself by any promise until his
return!"
Mr. Gibson looked gravely at her, irresponsive to her winning looks,which at the moment reminded him too forcibly of her mother's ways.Then he took her hand, and said, seriously enough,--"I hope you areworthy of him, Cynthia, for you have indeed drawn a prize. I havenever known a truer or warmer heart than Roger's; and I have knownhim boy and man."
Molly felt as if she could have thanked her father aloud for thistestimony to the value of him who was gone away. But Cynthia pouted alittle before she smiled up in his face.
"You are not complimentary, are you, Mr. Gibson?" said she. "Hethinks me worthy, I suppose; and if you have so high an opinionof him, you ought to respect his judgment of me." If she hoped toprovoke a compliment she was disappointed, for Mr. Gibson let go herhand in an absent manner, and sate down in an easy chair by the fire,gazing at the wood embers as if hoping to read the future in them.Molly saw Cynthia's eyes fill with tears, and followed her to theother end of the room, where she had gone to seek some workingmaterials.
"Dear Cynthia," was all she said; but she pressed her hand whiletrying to assist in the search.
"Oh, Molly, I am so fond of your father; what makes him speak so tome to-night?"
"I don't know," said Molly; "perhaps he's tired."
They were recalled from further conversation by Mr. Gibson. He hadroused himself from his reverie, and was now addressing Cynthia.
"I hope you will not consider it a breach of confidence, Cynthia, butI must tell the Squire of--of what has taken place to-day betweenyou and his son. I have bound myself by a promise to him. He wasafraid--it's as well to tell you the truth--he was afraid" (anemphasis on this last word) "of something of this kind between hissons and one of you two girls. It was only the other day I assuredhim there was nothing of the kind on foot; and I told him then Iwould inform him at once if I saw any symptoms."
Cynthia looked extremely annoyed.
"It was the one thing I stipulated for--secrecy."
"But why?" said Mr. Gibson. "I can understand your not wishing tohave it made public under the present circumstances. But the nearestfriends on both sides! Surely you can have no objection to that?"
"Yes, I have," said Cynthia; "I would not have had any one know if Icould have helped it."
"I'm almost certain Roger will tell his father."
"No, he won't," said Cynthia; "I made him promise, and I think he isone to respect a promise"--with a glance at her mother, who, feelingherself in disgrace with both husband and child, was keeping ajudicious silence.
"Well, at any rate, the story would come with so much better a gracefrom him that I shall give him the chance; I won't go over to theHall till the end of the week; he may have written and told hisfather before then."
Cynthia held her tongue for a little while. Then she said, withtearful pettishness,--
"A man's promise is to override a woman's wish, then, is it?"
"I don't see any reason why it should not."
"Will you trust in my reasons when I tell you it will cause mea great deal of distress if it gets known?" She said this in sopleading a voice, that if Mr. Gibson had not been thoroughlydispleased and annoyed by his previous conversation with her mother,he must have yielded to her. As it was, he said, coldly,--"TellingRoger's father is not making it public. I don't like this exaggerateddesire for such secrecy, Cynthia. It seems to me as if something morethan is apparent was concealed behind it."
"Come, Molly," said Cynthia, suddenly; "let us sing that duet I'vebeen teaching you; it's better than talking as we are doing."
It was a little lively French duet. Molly sang it carelessly, withheaviness at her heart; but Cynthia sang it with spirit and apparentmerriment; only she broke down in hysterics at last, and flewupstairs to her own room. Molly, heeding nothing else--neither herfather nor Mrs. Gibson's words--followed her, and found the door ofher bedroom locked, and for all reply to her entreaties to be allowedto come in, she heard Cynthia sobbing and crying.
It was more than a week after the incidents just recorded beforeMr. Gibson found himself at liberty to call on the Squire; and heheartily hoped that long before then, Roger's letter might havearrived from Paris, telling his father the whole story. But he saw atthe first glance that the Squire had heard nothing unusual to disturbhis equanimity. He was looking better than he had done for monthspast; the light of hope was in his eyes, his face seemed of a healthyruddy colour, gained partly by his resumption of outdoor employmentin the superintendence of the works, and partly because the happinesshe had lately had through Roger's means, caused his blood to flowwith regular vigour. He had felt Roger's going away, it is true; butwhenever the sorrow of parting with him pressed too heavily upon him,he filled his pipe, and smoked it out over a long, slow, deliberate,re-perusal of Lord Hollingford's letter, every word of which he knewby heart; but expressions in which he made a pretence to himselfof doubting, that he might have an excuse for looking at his son'spraises once again. The first greetings over, Mr. Gibson plunged intohis subject.
"Any news from Roger yet?"
"Oh, yes; here's his letter," said the Squire, producing his blackleather case, in which Roger's missive had been placed along with theother very heterogeneous contents.
Mr. Gibson read it, hardly seeing the words after he had by one rapidglance assured himself that there was no mention of Cynthia in it.
"Hum! I see he doesn't name one very important event that hasbefallen him since he left you," said Mr. Gibson, seizing on thefirst words that came. "I believe I'm committing a breach ofconfidence on one side; but I'm going to keep the promise I madethe last time I was here. I find there is something--somethingof the kind you apprehended--you understand--between him and mystep-daughter, Cynthia Kirkpatrick. He called at our house to wishus good-by, while waiting for the London coach, found her alone, andspoke to her. They don't call it an engagement, but of course it isone."
"Give me back the letter," said the Squire, in a constrained kind ofvoice. Then he read it again, as if he had not previously masteredits contents, and as if there might be some sentence or sentences hehad overlooked.
"No!" he said at last, with a sigh. "He tells me nothing about it.Lads may play at confidences with their fathers, but they keep a dealback." The Squire appeared more disappointed at not having heard ofthis straight from Roger than displeased at the fact itself, Mr.Gibson thought. But he let him take his time.
"He's not the eldest son," continued the Squire, talking as itwere to himself. "But it's not the match I should have plannedfor him. How came you, sir," said he, firing round on Mr. Gibson,suddenly--"to say when you were last here, that there was nothingbetween my sons and either of your girls? Why, this must have beengoing on all the time!"
"I'm afraid it was. But I was as ignorant about it as the babeunborn. I only heard of it on the evening of the day of Roger'sdeparture."
"And that's a week ago, sir. What's kept you quiet ever since?"
"I thought that Roger would tell you himself."
"That shows you've no sons. More than half their life is unknown totheir fathers. Why, Osborne there, we live together--that's to say,we have our meals together, and we sleep under the same roof--andyet--Well! well! life is as God has made it. You say it's not anengagement yet? But I wonder what I'm doing? Hoping for my lad'sdisappointment in the folly he's set his heart on--and just when he'sbeen helping me. Is it a folly, or is it not? I ask you, Gibson, foryou must know this girl. She hasn't much money, I suppose?"
"About thirty pounds a year, at my pleasure during her mother'slife."
"Whew! It's well he's not Osborne. They'll have to wait. What familyis she of? None of 'em in trade, I reckon, from her being so poor?"
"I believe her father was grandson of a certain Sir GeraldKirkpatrick. Her mother tells me it is an old baronetcy. I knownothing of such things."
"That's something. I do know something of such things, as you arepleased to call them. I like honourable blood."
Mr. Gibson could not help saying, "But I'm afraid
that onlyone-eighth of Cynthia's blood is honourable; I know nothing furtherof her relations excepting the fact that her father was a curate."
"Professional. That's a step above trade at any rate. How old isshe?"
"Eighteen or nineteen."
"Pretty?"
"Yes, I think so; most people do; but it's all a matter of taste.Come, Squire, judge for yourself. Ride over and take lunch with usany day you like. I may not be in; but her mother will be there, andyou can make acquaintance with your son's future wife."
This was going too fast, however; presuming too much on the quietnesswith which the Squire had been questioning him. Mr. Hamley drew backwithin his shell, and spoke in a surly manner as he replied,--
"Roger's 'future wife!' He'll be wiser by the time he comes home. Twoyears among the black folk will have put more sense in him."
"Possible, but not probable, I should say," replied Mr. Gibson."Black folk are not remarkable for their powers of reasoning, Ibelieve, so that they haven't much chance of altering his opinionby argument, even if they understood each other's language; andcertainly if he shares my taste, their peculiarity of complexion willonly make him appreciate white skins the more."
"But you said it was no engagement," growled the Squire. "If hethinks better of it, you won't keep him to it, will you?"
"If he wishes to break it off, I shall certainly advise Cynthia tobe equally willing, that's all I can say. And I see no reason fordiscussing the affair further at present. I've told you how mattersstand because I promised you I would, if I saw anything of this kindgoing on. But in the present condition of things, we can neither makenor mar; we can only wait." And he took up his hat to go. But theSquire was discontented.
"Don't go, Gibson. Don't take offence at what I've said, though I'msure I don't know why you should. What's the girl like in herself?"
"I don't know what you mean," said Mr. Gibson. But he did; only hewas vexed, and did not choose to understand.
"Is she--well, is she like your Molly?--sweet-tempered andsensible--with her gloves always mended, and neat about the feet, andready to do anything one asks her just as if doing it was the verything she liked best in the world?"
Mr. Gibson's face relaxed now, and he could understand all theSquire's broken sentences and unexplained meanings.
"She is much prettier than Molly to begin with, and has very winningways. She's always well-dressed and smart-looking, and I know shehasn't much to spend on her clothes, and always does what she's askedto do, and is ready enough with her pretty, lively answers. I don'tthink I ever saw her out of temper; but then I'm not sure if shetakes things keenly to heart, and a certain obtuseness of feelinggoes a great way towards a character for good temper, I've observed.Altogether I think Cynthia is one in a hundred."
The Squire meditated a little. "Your Molly is one in a thousand, tomy mind. But then, you see, she comes of no family at all,--and Idon't suppose she'll have a chance of much money." This he said as ifhe were thinking aloud, and without reference to Mr. Gibson, but itnettled the latter, and he replied somewhat impatiently,--
"Well, but as there's no question of Molly in this business, I don'tsee the use of bringing her name in, and considering either herfamily or her fortune."
"No, to be sure not," said the Squire, rousing up. "My wits had gonefar afield, and I'll own I was only thinking what a pity it was shewouldn't do for Osborne. But, of course, it's out of thequestion--out of the question."
"Yes," said Mr. Gibson, "and if you will excuse me, Squire, I reallymust go now, and then you'll be at liberty to send your wits afielduninterrupted." This time he was at the door before the Squirecalled him back. He stood impatiently hitting his top-boots with hisriding-whip, waiting for the interminable last words.
"I say, Gibson, we're old friends, and you're a fool if you takeanything I say as an offence. Madam your wife and I didn't hit it offthe only time I ever saw her. I won't say she was silly, but I thinkone of us was silly, and it wasn't me. However, we'll pass that over.Suppose you bring her, and this girl Cynthia (which is as outlandisha Christian name as I'd wish to hear), and little Molly out here tolunch some day,--I'm more at my ease in my own house,--and I'm moresure to be civil, too. We need say nothing about Roger,--neither thelass nor me,--and you keep your wife's tongue quiet, if you can. Itwill only be like a compliment to you on your marriage, you know--andno one must take it for anything more. Mind, no allusion or mentionof Roger, and this piece of folly. I shall see the girl then, andI can judge her for myself; for, as you say, that will be the bestplan. Osborne will be here too; and he's always in his elementtalking to women. I sometimes think he's half a woman himself, hespends so much money and is so unreasonable."
The Squire was pleased with his own speech and his own thought, andsmiled a little as he finished speaking. Mr. Gibson was both pleasedand amused; and he smiled too, anxious as he was to be gone. The nextThursday was soon fixed upon as the day on which Mr. Gibson was tobring his womenkind out to the Hall. He thought that, on the whole,the interview had gone off a good deal better than he had expected,and felt rather proud of the invitation of which he was the bearer.Therefore Mrs. Gibson's manner of receiving it was an annoyance tohim. She, meanwhile, had been considering herself as an injured womanever since the evening of the day of Roger's departure; what businesshad any one had to speak as if the chances of Osborne's life beingprolonged were infinitely small, if in fact the matter was uncertain?She liked Osborne extremely, much better than Roger; and would gladlyhave schemed to secure him for Cynthia, if she had not shrunk fromthe notion of her daughter's becoming a widow. For if Mrs. Gibson hadever felt anything acutely it was the death of Mr. Kirkpatrick; and,amiably callous as she was in most things, she recoiled from exposingher daughter wilfully to the same kind of suffering which she herselfhad experienced. But if she had only known Dr. Nicholls' opinion shewould never have favoured Roger's suit; never. And then Mr. Gibsonhimself; why was he so cold and reserved in his treatment of hersince that night of explanation? She had done nothing wrong; yet shewas treated as though she were in disgrace. And everything aboutthe house was flat just now. She even missed the little excitementof Roger's visits, and the watching of his attentions to Cynthia.Cynthia too was silent enough; and as for Molly, she was absolutelydull and out of spirits, a state of mind so annoying to Mrs. Gibsonjust now, that she vented some of her discontent upon the poor girl,from whom she feared neither complaint nor repartee.
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