"I daresay I shall," said Cynthia, quietly. "I sometimes think I'm the kind of person of which old maids are made!" She spoke seriously, and a little sadly.
Mrs. Gibson began again. "I don't want to know your secrets as long as they are secrets; but when all the town is talking about you, I think I ought to be told."
"But, mamma, I didn't know I was such a subject of conversation; and even now I can't make out how it has come about."
"No more can I. I only know that they say you've been engaged to Mr. Preston, and ought to have married him, and that I can't help it, if you did not choose, any more than I could have helped your refusing Mr. Henderson; and yet I am constantly blamed for your misconduct. I think it's very hard." Mrs. Gibson began to cry. Just then her husband came in.
"You here, my dear! Welcome back," said he, coming up to her courteously, and kissing her cheek. "Why, what's the matter? Tears?" and he heartily wished himself away again.
"Yes!" said she, raising herself up, and clutching after sympathy of any kind, at any price. "I'm come home again, and I'm telling Cynthia how Lady Cumnor has been so cross to me, and all through her. Did you know she had gone and engaged herself to Mr. Preston, and then broken it off? Everybody is talking about it, and they know it up at the Towers."
For one moment his eyes met Molly's, and he comprehended it all. He made his lips up into a whistle, but no sound came. Cynthia had quite lost her defiant manner since her mother had spoken to Mr. Gibson. Molly sate down by her.
"Cynthia," said he, very seriously.
"Yes!" she answered, softly.
"Is this true? I had heard something of it before—not much; but there is scandal enough about to make it desirable that you should have some protector—some friend who knows the whole truth."