"So do I," said Molly, simply. She was thinking again of Mrs. Hamley,—
|
Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust, |
and "goodness" just then seemed to her to be the only enduring thing in the world.
"Nonsense, Molly! You are good. At least, if you're not good, what am I? There's a rule-of-three sum for you to do! But it's no use talking; I am not good, and I never shall be now. Perhaps I might be a heroine still, but I shall never be a good woman, I know."
"Do you think it easier to be a heroine?"
"Yes, as far as one knows of heroines from history. I'm capable of a great jerk, an effort, and then a relaxation—but steady, every-day goodness is beyond me. I must be a moral kangaroo!"
Molly could not follow Cynthia's ideas; she could not distract herself from the thoughts of the sorrowing group at the Hall.
"How I should like to see them all! and yet one can do nothing at such a time! Papa says the funeral is to be on Tuesday, and that, after that, Roger Hamley is to go back to Cambridge. It will seem as if nothing had happened! I wonder how the squire and Mr. Osborne Hamley will get on together."
"He's the eldest son, is he not? Why shouldn't he and his father get on well together?"
"Oh! I don't know. That is to say, I do know, but I think I ought not to tell."