"Harriet thought of her father's happiness before she thought of her
own," Roger answered, with something of severe brevity. Molly needed
the bracing. She began to cry again a little.
"If it were for papa's happiness--"
"He must believe that it is. Whatever you fancy, give him a chance.
He cannot have much comfort, I should think, if he sees you fretting
or pining,--you who have been so much to him, as you say. The lady
herself, too--if Harriet's stepmother had been a selfish woman, and
been always clutching after the gratification of her own wishes; but
she was not: she was as anxious for Harriet to be happy as Harriet
was for her father--and your father's future wife may be another of
the same kind, though such people are rare."
"I don't think she is, though," murmured Molly, a waft of
recollection bringing to her mind the details of her day at the
Towers long ago.
Roger did not want to hear Molly's reasons for this doubting speech.
He felt as if he had no right to hear more of Mr. Gibson's family
life, past, present, or to come, than was absolutely necessary for
him, in order that he might comfort and help the crying girl, whom he
had come upon so unexpectedly. And besides, he wanted to go home, and
be with his mother at lunch-time. Yet he could not leave her alone.
"It is right to hope for the best about everybody, and not to expect
the worst. This sounds like a truism, but it has comforted me before
now, and some day you'll find it useful. One has always to try to
think more of others than of oneself, and it is best not to prejudge
people on the bad side. My sermons aren't long, are they? Have they
given you an appetite for lunch? Sermons always make me hungry, I
know."
He appeared to be waiting for her to get up and come along with him,
as indeed he was. But he meant her to perceive that he should not
leave her; so she rose up languidly, too languid to say how much she
should prefer being left alone, if he would only go away without her.
She was very weak, and stumbled over the straggling root of a tree
that projected across the path. He, watchful though silent, saw
this stumble, and putting out his hand held her up from falling. He
still held her hand when the occasion was past; this little physical
failure impressed on his heart how young and helpless she was, and
he yearned to her, remembering the passion of sorrow in which he had
found her, and longing to be of some little tender bit of comfort to
her, before they parted--before their tête-à-tête walk was merged in
the general familiarity of the household life. Yet he did not know
what to say.