Molly's father was not at home when she returned; and there was no
one to give her a welcome. Mrs. Gibson was out paying calls, the
servants told Molly. She went upstairs to her own room, meaning to
unpack and arrange her borrowed books. Rather to her surprise she saw
the chamber, corresponding to her own, being dusted; water and towels
too were being carried in.
"Is any one coming?" she asked of the housemaid.
"Missus's daughter from France. Miss Kirkpatrick is coming
to-morrow."
Was Cynthia coming at last? Oh, what a pleasure it would be to have a
companion, a girl, a sister of her own age! Molly's depressed spirits
sprang up again with bright elasticity. She longed for Mrs. Gibson's
return, to ask her all about it: it must be very sudden, for Mr.
Gibson had said nothing of it at the Hall the day before. No quiet
reading now; the books were hardly put away with Molly's usual
neatness. She went down into the drawing-room, and could not settle
to anything. At last Mrs. Gibson came home, tired out with her walk
and her heavy velvet cloak. Until that was taken off, and she had
rested herself for a few minutes, she seemed quite unable to attend
to Molly's questions.
"Oh, yes! Cynthia is coming home to-morrow, by the 'Umpire,' which
passes through at ten o'clock. What an oppressive day it is for the
time of the year! I really am almost ready to faint. Cynthia heard of
some opportunity, I believe, and was only too glad to leave school a
fortnight earlier than we planned. She never gave me the chance of
writing to say I did, or did not, like her coming so much before the
time; and I shall have to pay for her just the same as if she had
stopped. And I meant to have asked her to bring me a French bonnet;
and then you could have had one made after mine. But I'm very glad
she's coming, poor dear."
"Is anything the matter with her?" asked Molly.
"Oh, no! Why should there be?"
"You called her 'poor dear,' and it made me afraid lest she might be
ill."
"Oh, no! It's only a way I got into, when Mr. Kirkpatrick died. A
fatherless girl--you know one always does call them 'poor dears.' Oh,
no! Cynthia never is ill. She's as strong as a horse. She never would
have felt to-day as I have done. Could you get me a glass of wine and
a biscuit, my dear? I'm really quite faint."
Mr. Gibson was much more excited about Cynthia's arrival than her
own mother was. He anticipated her coming as a great pleasure to
Molly, on whom, in spite of his recent marriage and his new wife, his
interests principally centred. He even found time to run upstairs and
see the bedrooms of the two girls; for the furniture of which he had
paid a pretty round sum.