"Don't you like to go? Would you rather not?" If she had said that
she did not want to go he would have been rather pleased than
otherwise, although it would have put him into a great perplexity;
but he was beginning to dread the parting from her even for so short
a time. However, she replied directly,--
"I don't know--I daresay I shall like it when I have thought a little
more about it. Just now I'm so startled by the suddenness of the
affair, I haven't considered whether I shall like it or not. I shan't
like going away from you, I know. Why am I to go, papa?"
"There are three old ladies sitting somewhere, and thinking about
you just at this very minute; one has a distaff in her hands, and is
spinning a thread; she has come to a knot in it, and is puzzled what
to do with it. Her sister has a great pair of scissors in her hands,
and wants--as she always does, when any difficulty arises in the
smoothness of the thread--to cut it off short; but the third, who has
the most head of the three, plans how to undo the knot; and she it is
who has decided that you are to go to Hamley. The others are quite
convinced by her arguments; so, as the Fates have decreed that this
visit is to be paid, there is nothing left for you and me but to
submit."
"That's all nonsense, papa, and you're only making me more curious to
find out this hidden reason."
Mr. Gibson changed his tone, and spoke gravely now. "There is a
reason, Molly, and one which I do not wish to give. When I tell you
this much, I expect you to be an honourable girl, and to try and not
even conjecture what the reason may be,--much less endeavour to put
little discoveries together till very likely you may find out what I
want to conceal."
"Papa, I won't even think about your reason again. But then I shall
have to plague you with another question. I've had no new gown this
year, and I've outgrown all my last summer frocks. I've only three
that I can wear at all. Betty was saying only yesterday that I ought
to have some more."
"That'll do that you have got on, won't it? It's a very pretty
colour."
"Yes; but, papa" (holding it out as if she was going to dance), "it's
made of woollen, and so hot and heavy; and every day it will be
getting warmer."
"I wish girls could dress like boys," said Mr. Gibson, with a little
impatience. "How is a man to know when his daughter wants clothes?
and how is he to rig her out when he finds it out, just when she
needs them most and hasn't got them?"