"Yes," sobbed Molly; and then there was a silence.
"Had you known her long?"
"No, not a year. But I had seen a great deal of her. I was almost like a daughter to her; she said so. Yet I never bid her good-by, or anything. Her mind became weak and confused."
"She had only sons, I think?"
"No; only Mr. Osborne and Mr. Roger Hamley. She had a daughter once—'Fanny.' Sometimes, in her illness, she used to call me 'Fanny.'"
The two girls were silent for some time, both gazing into the fire. Cynthia spoke first:—
"I wish I could love people as you do, Molly!"
"Don't you?" said the other, in surprise.
"No. A good number of people love me, I believe, or at least they think they do; but I never seem to care much for any one. I do believe I love you, little Molly, whom I have only known for ten days, better than any one."
"Not than your mother?" said Molly, in grave astonishment.