"What is all this I hear about my little friend Molly Gibson and Mr. Preston?"
"Oh, Lady Harriet! have you heard of it? We are so sorry!"
"Sorry for what?"
"I think, begging your ladyship's pardon, we had better not say any more till we know how much you know," said Miss Browning.
"Nay," replied Lady Harriet, laughing a little, "I shan't tell what I know till I am sure you know more. Then we'll make an exchange if you like."
"I'm afraid it's no laughing matter for poor Molly," said Miss Browning, shaking her head. "People do say such things!"
"But I don't believe them; indeed I don't," burst in Miss Phœbe, half crying.
"No more will I, then," said Lady Harriet, taking the good lady's hand.
"It's all very fine, Phœbe, saying you don't believe them, but I should like to know who it was that convinced me, sadly against my will, I am sure."
"I only told you the facts as Mrs. Goodenough told them me, sister; but I'm sure if you had seen poor patient Molly as I have done, sitting up in a corner of a room, looking at the Beauties of England and Wales till she must have been sick of them, and no one speaking to her; and she as gentle and sweet as ever at the end of the evening, though maybe a bit pale—facts or no facts, I won't believe anything against her."