“Well, if we shall not put you out, we will remain an hour or two.”
“Come up-stairs, then; you will rest better when your cloak is off.”
Molly had never felt as if her house was a bandbox till now. Mr. and Mrs. Bishop seemed literally to fill the parlor, yet they were not very large. Harry was much taller than his father, but they both had a ponderous way with them. Mrs. Bishop’s voice, too, was a deep contralto, which she used in a manner which, had it been affected, would have been haughty, but, natural as it had become, yet seemed to impress people against their will with a sense of her importance.
“And so this is your little cottage? Do you find room in it?”
“Oh, yes,” said Molly, smiling, “plenty;” but as she followed her mother-in-law up the narrow stairs, which had never seemed so narrow till she saw the rich dress and velvet-clad shoulders fill the whole space, she could see how very tiny it might seem to one accustomed to large rooms and broad spaces.
Mrs. Bishop glanced around the pretty bed-room.
“And Harry and you really are contented here?” she asked.
“Indeed, we are more than contented; I’m as happy as the day is long.”
“Well, it’s very strange for Harry; he was always the most fastidious boy; but happiness is everything, I suppose.”
“We think so.”