‘Yes; and I am sure you might have done—there’s the ingratitude! I am not so unjust as to want you to do what you can’t do!’ said Mrs. Gibson, querulously.
‘But where’s the ingratitude, mamma? I’m very much tired, and perhaps that makes me stupid; but I cannot see the ingratitude.’ Cynthia spoke very wearily, leaning her head back on the sofa-cushions, as if she did not care to have an answer.
‘Why, don’t you see we are doing all we can for you; dressing you well, and sending you to London; and when you might relieve us of the expense of all this, you don’t.’
‘No! Cynthia, I will speak,’ said Molly, all crimson with indignation, and pushing away Cynthia’s restraining hand. ‘I am sure papa does not feel, and does not mind, any expense he incurs about his daughters. And I know quite well that he does not wish us to marry, unless_______’ She faltered and stopped.
‘Unless what?’ said Mrs. Gibson, half-mocking.
‘Unless we love some one very dearly indeed,’ said Molly, in a low, firm tone.
‘Well, after this tirade—really rather indelicate, I must say—I have done. I will neither help nor hinder any love-affairs of you two young ladies. In my days we were glad of the advice of our elders.’ And she left the room to put into fulfilment an idea which had just struck her: to write a confidential letter to Mrs. Kirkpatrick, giving her her version of Cynthia’s ‘unfortunate entanglement,’ and ‘delicate sense of honour,’ and hints of her entire indifference to all the masculine portion of the world, Mr. Henderson being dexterously excluded from the category.
‘Oh, dear!’ said Molly, throwing herself back in a chair with a sigh of relief, as Mrs. Gibson left the room; ‘how cross I do get since I’ve been ill! But I couldn’t bear her to speak as if papa grudged you anything.’
‘I’m sure he doesn’t, Molly. You need not defend him on my account. But I’m sorry mamma still looks upon me as “an encumbrance,” as the advertisements in The Times always call us unfortunate children. But I’ve been an encumbrance to her all my life. I’m getting very much into despair about everything, Molly. I shall try my luck in Russia. I’ve heard of a situation as English governess at Moscow, in a family owning whole provinces of land, and serfs by the hundred. I put off writing my letter till I came home; I shall be as much out of the way there as if I was married. Oh, dear! travelling all night isn’t good for the spirits. How’s Mr. Preston?’
‘Oh, he has taken Cumnor Grange, three miles away, and he never comes in to the Hollingford tea-parties now. I saw him once in the street, but it’s a question which of us tried the hardest to get out of the other’s way.’
‘You’ve not said anything about Roger, yet.’
‘No; I didn’t know if you would care to hear. He is very much older-looking; quite a strong grown-up man. And papa says he is much graver. Ask me any questions, if you want to know, but I have only seen him once.’
‘I was in hopes he would have left the neighbourhood by this time. Mamma said he was going to travel again.’
‘I can’t tell,’ said Molly. ‘I suppose you know,’ she continued, but hesitating a little before she spoke, ‘that he wishes to see you?’
‘No! I never heard. I wish he would have been satisfied with my letter. It was as decided as I could make it. If I say I won’t see him, I wonder if his will or mine will be the strongest?’
‘His,’ said Molly. ‘But you must see him; you owe it to him. He will never be satisfied without it.’
‘Suppose he talks me round into resuming the engagement? I should only break it off again.’
‘Surely, you can’t be “talked round,” if your mind is made up. But perhaps it is not really, Cynthia?’ asked she, with a little wistful anxiety betraying itself in her face.
‘It is quite made up. I am going to teach little Russian girls; and am never going to marry nobody.’
‘You are not serious, Cynthia. And yet it is a very serious thing.’
But Cynthia went into one of her wild moods, and no more reason or sensible meaning was to be got out of her at the time.
CHAPTER 56
‘Off with the Old Love, and On with the New’
The next morning saw Mrs. Gibson in a much more contented frame of mind. She had written and posted her letter, and the next thing was to keep Cynthia in what she called a reasonable state, or, in other words, to try and cajole her into docility. But it was so much labour lost. Cynthia had already received a letter from Mr. Henderson before she came down to breakfast,—a declaration of love, a proposal of marriage as clear as words could make it; together with an intimation that, unable to wait for the slow delays of the post, he was going to follow her down to Hollingford, and would arrive at the same time that she had done herself on the previous day. Cynthia said nothing about this letter to anyone. She came late into the breakfast-room, after Mr. and Mrs. Gibson had finished the actual business of the meal; but her unpunctuality was quite accounted for by the fact that she had been travelling all the night before. Molly was not as yet strong enough to get up so early. Cynthia hardly spoke, and did not touch her food. Mr. Gibson went about his daily business, and Cynthia and her mother were left alone.
‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Gibson, ‘you are not eating your breakfast as you should do. I am afraid our meals seem very plain and homely to you after those in Hyde Park Street?’
‘No,’ said Cynthia; ‘I’m not hungry, that’s all.’
‘If we were as rich as your uncle, I should feel it to be both a duty and a pleasure to keep an elegant table; but limited means are a sad clog to one’s wishes. I don’t suppose that, work as he will, Mr. Gibson can earn more than he does at present; while the capabilities of the law are boundless. Lord Chancellor! Titles as well as fortune!’
Cynthia was almost too much absorbed in her own reflections to reply, but she did say,—
‘Hundreds of briefless barristers. Take the other side, mamma.’
‘Well; but I have noticed that many of these have private fortunes.’
‘Perhaps. Mamma, I expect Mr. Henderson will come and call this morning.’
‘Oh, my precious child! But how do you know? My darling Cynthia, am I to congratulate you?’
‘No! I suppose I must tell you. I have had a letter this morning from him, and he is coming down by the “Umpire” to-day.’
‘But he has offered? He surely must mean to offer, at any rate?’
Cynthia played with her teaspoon before she replied; then she looked up, like one startled from a dream, and caught the echo of her mother’s question.
‘Offered! yes, I suppose he has.’
‘And you accept him? Say “yes,” Cynthia, and make me happy!’
‘I shan’t say “yes” to make any one happy except myself, and the Russian scheme has great charms for me.’ She said this to plague her mother, and lessen Mrs. Gibson’s exuberance of joy, it must be confessed; for her mind was pretty well made up. But it did not affect Mrs. Gibson, who affixed even less truth to it than there really was. The idea of a residence in a new, strange country, among new, strange people, was not without allurement to Cynthia.
‘You always look nice, dear; but don’t you think you had better put on that pretty lilac silk?’
‘I shall not vary a thread or a shred from what I have got on now.’
‘You dear, wilful creature! you know you always look lovely in whatever you put on.’ So, kissing her daughter, Mrs. Gibson left the room, intent on the lunch which should impress Mr. Henderson at once with an idea of family refinement.