Molly was silent. There was a great deal of truth in what Cynthia was
saying: and yet a great deal of falsehood. For, through all this long
forty-eight hours, Molly had loved Cynthia dearly; and had been more
weighed down by the position the latter was in than Cynthia herself.
She also knew--but this was a second thought following on the
other--that she had suffered much pain in trying to do her best
in this interview with Mr. Preston. She had been tried beyond her
strength: and the great tears welled up into her eyes, and fell
slowly down her cheeks.
"Oh! what a brute I am!" said Cynthia, kissing them away. "I see--I
know it is the truth, and I deserve it--but I need not reproach you."
"You did not reproach me!" said Molly, trying to smile. "I have
thought something of what you said--but I do love you dearly--dearly,
Cynthia--I should have done just the same as you did."
"No, you would not. Your grain is different, somehow."