Mrs. Gibson was slow in recovering her strength after the influenza,
and before she was well enough to accept Lady Harriet's invitation to
the Towers, Cynthia came home from London. If Molly had thought her
manner of departure was scarcely as affectionate and considerate as
it might have been,--if such a thought had crossed Molly's fancy
for an instant, she was repentant for it as soon as ever Cynthia
returned, and the girls met together face to face, with all the old
familiar affection, going upstairs to the drawing-room, with their
arms round each other's waists, and sitting there together hand in
hand. Cynthia's whole manner was more quiet than it had been, when
the weight of her unpleasant secret rested on her mind, and made her
alternately despondent or flighty.
"After all," said Cynthia, "there's a look of home about these rooms
which is very pleasant. But I wish I could see you looking stronger,
mamma! that's the only unpleasant thing. Molly, why didn't you send
for me?"
"I wanted to do," began Molly--
"But I wouldn't let her," said Mrs. Gibson. "You were much better
in London than here, for you could have done me no good; and your
letters were very agreeable to read; and now Helen is better, and
I'm nearly well, and you've come home just at the right time, for
everybody is full of the Charity Ball."
"But we are not going this year, mamma," said Cynthia decidedly.
"It's on the 25th, isn't it? and I'm sure you'll never be well enough
to take us."
"You really seem determined to make me out worse than I am, child,"
said Mrs. Gibson, rather querulously, she being one of those who,
when their malady is only trifling, exaggerate it, but when it is
really of some consequence, are unwilling to sacrifice any pleasures
by acknowledging it. It was well for her in this instance that her
husband had wisdom and authority enough to forbid her going to
this ball, on which she had set her heart; but the consequence of
his prohibition was an increase of domestic plaintiveness and low
spirits, which seemed to tell on Cynthia--the bright gay Cynthia
herself--and it was often hard work for Molly to keep up the spirits
of two other people as well as her own. Ill-health might account for
Mrs. Gibson's despondency, but why was Cynthia so silent, not to say
so sighing? Molly was puzzled to account for it; and all the more
perplexed because from time to time Cynthia kept calling upon her for
praise for some unknown and mysterious virtue that she had practised;
and Molly was young enough to believe that, after any exercise of
virtue, the spirits rose, cheered up by an approving conscience.
Such was not the case with Cynthia, however. She sometimes said
such things as these, when she had been particularly inert and
desponding:--