Mr. Coxe felt much flattered, and took the words as a happy omen for
his love-affair. "Is Miss Gibson in?" asked he, blushing violently.
"I knew her formerly--that is to say, I lived in the same house
with her, for more than two years, and it would be a great pleasure
to--to--"
"Certainly, I am sure she will be so glad to see you. I sent her
and Cynthia--you don't know my daughter Cynthia, I think, Mr. Coxe?
she and Molly are such great friends--out for a brisk walk this
frosty day, but I think they will soon come back." She went on saying
agreeable nothings to the young man, who received her attentions
with a certain complacency, but was all the time much more engaged
in listening to the well-remembered click at the front door,--the
shutting it to again with household care, and the sound of the
familiar bounding footstep on the stair. At last they came. Cynthia
entered first, bright and blooming, fresh colour in her cheeks and
lips, fresh brilliance in her eyes. She looked startled at the sight
of a stranger, and for an instant she stopped short at the door, as
if taken by surprise. Then in came Molly softly behind her, smiling,
happy, dimpled; but not such a glowing beauty as Cynthia.
"Oh, Mr. Coxe, is it you?" said she, going up to him with an
outstretched hand, and greeting him with simple friendliness.
"Yes; it seems such a long time since I saw you. You are so much
grown--so much--well, I suppose I mustn't say what," he replied,
speaking hurriedly, and holding her hand all the time, rather to
her discomfiture. Then Mrs. Gibson introduced her daughter, and the
two girls spoke of the enjoyment of their walk. Mr. Coxe marred his
cause in that very first interview, if indeed he ever could have
had any chance, by his precipitancy in showing his feelings, and
Mrs. Gibson helped him to mar it by trying to assist him. Molly lost
her open friendliness of manner, and began to shrink away from him
in a way which he thought was a very ungrateful return for all his
faithfulness to her these two years past; and after all she was not
the wonderful beauty his fancy or his love had painted her. That Miss
Kirkpatrick was far more beautiful and much easier of access. For
Cynthia put on all her pretty airs--her look of intent interest in
what any one was saying to her, let the subject be what it would,
as if it was the thing she cared most about in the whole world; her
unspoken deference; in short, all the unconscious ways she possessed
by instinct of tickling the vanity of men. So while Molly quietly
repelled him, Cynthia drew him to her by her soft attractive ways;
and his constancy fell before her charms. He was thankful that he had
not gone too far with Molly, and grateful to Mr. Gibson for having
prohibited all declarations two years ago; for Cynthia, and Cynthia
alone, could make him happy. After a fortnight's time, during which
he had entirely veered round in his allegiance, he thought it
desirable to speak to Mr. Gibson. He did so with a certain sense
of exultation in his own correct behaviour in the affair, but at
the same time feeling rather ashamed of the confession of his own
changeableness which was naturally involved. Now it had so happened
that Mr. Gibson had been unusually little at home during the
fortnight that Mr. Coxe had ostensibly lodged at the "George," but
in reality had spent the greater part of his time at Mr. Gibson's
house--so that he had seen very little of his former pupil, and on
the whole he had thought him improved, especially after Molly's
manner had made her father pretty sure that Mr. Coxe stood no chance
in that quarter. But Mr. Gibson was quite ignorant of the attraction
which Cynthia had had for the young man. If he had perceived it, he
would have nipped it in the bud pretty quickly, for he had no notion
of any girl, even though only partially engaged to one man, receiving
offers from others, if a little plain speaking could prevent it. Mr.
Coxe had asked for a private interview; they were sitting in the old
surgery, now called the consulting-room, but still retaining so much
of its former self as to be the last place in which Mr. Coxe could
feel himself at ease. He was red up to the very roots of his red
hair, and kept turning his glossy new hat round and round in his
fingers, unable to find out the proper way of beginning his sentence,
so at length he plunged in, grammar or no grammar.