She rose up and threw herself into Mrs. Hamley's arms, and sobbed
upon her breast. Her sorrow was not now for the fact that her father
was going to be married again, but for her own ill-behaviour.
If Roger was not tender in words, he was in deeds. Unreasonable and
possibly exaggerated as Molly's grief had appeared to him, it was
real suffering to her; and he took some pains to lighten it, in his
own way, which was characteristic enough. That evening he adjusted
his microscope, and put the treasures he had collected in his
morning's ramble on a little table; and then he asked his mother to
come and admire. Of course Molly came too, and this was what he had
intended. He tried to interest her in his pursuit, cherished her
first little morsel of curiosity, and nursed it into a very proper
desire for further information. Then he brought out books on the
subject, and translated the slightly pompous and technical language
into homely every-day speech. Molly had come down to dinner,
wondering how the long hours till bedtime would ever pass away:
hours during which she must not speak on the one thing that would
be occupying her mind to the exclusion of all others; for she was
afraid that already she had wearied Mrs. Hamley with it during their
afternoon tête-à-tête. But prayers and bedtime came long before she
expected; she had been refreshed by a new current of thought, and she
was very thankful to Roger. And now there was to-morrow to come, and
a confession of penitence to be made to her father.
But Mr. Gibson did not want speech or words. He was not fond of
expressions of feeling at any time, and perhaps, too, he felt that
the less said the better on a subject about which it was evident that
his daughter and he were not thoroughly and impulsively in harmony.
He read her repentance in her eyes; he saw how much she had suffered;
and he had a sharp pang at his heart in consequence. And he stopped
her from speaking out her regret at her behaviour the day before, by
a "There, there, that will do. I know all you want to say. I know my
little Molly--my silly little goosey--better than she knows herself.
I've brought you an invitation. Lady Cumnor wants you to go and spend
next Thursday at the Towers!"
"Do you wish me to go?" said she, her heart sinking.
"I wish you and Hyacinth to become better acquainted--to learn to
love each other."
"Hyacinth!" said Molly, entirely bewildered.