MOLLY FINDS HERSELF PATRONIZED.
The wedding went off much as such affairs do. Lord Cumnor and Lady
Harriet drove over from the Towers, so the hour for the ceremony
was as late as possible. Lord Cumnor came in order to officiate as
the bride's father, and was in more open glee than either bride or
bridegroom, or any one else. Lady Harriet came as a sort of amateur
bridesmaid, to "share Molly's duties," as she called it. They went
from the Manor-house in two carriages to the church in the park, Mr.
Preston and Mr. Gibson in one, and Molly, to her dismay, shut up with
Lord Cumnor and Lady Harriet in the other. Lady Harriet's gown of
white muslin had seen one or two garden-parties, and was not in the
freshest order; it had been rather a freak of the young lady's at the
last moment. She was very merry, and very much inclined to talk to
Molly, by way of finding out what sort of a little personage Clare
was to have for her future daughter. She began:--
"We mustn't crush this pretty muslin dress of yours. Put it over
papa's knee; he doesn't mind it in the least."
"What, my dear, a white dress!--no, to be sure not. I rather like
it. Besides, going to a wedding, who minds anything? It would be
different if we were going to a funeral."
Molly conscientiously strove to find out the meaning of this speech;
but before she had done so, Lady Harriet spoke again, going to the
point, as she always piqued herself on doing:
"I daresay it's something of a trial to you, this second marriage of
your father's; but you'll find Clare the most amiable of women. She
always let me have my own way, and I've no doubt she'll let you have
yours."
"I mean to try and like her," said Molly, in a low voice, striving
hard to keep down the tears that would keep rising to her eyes this
morning. "I've seen very little of her yet."
"Why, it's the very best thing for you that could have happened, my
dear," said Lord Cumnor. "You're growing up into a young lady--and
a very pretty young lady, too, if you'll allow an old man to say
so--and who so proper as your father's wife to bring you out, and
show you off, and take you to balls, and that kind of thing? I
always said this match that is going to come off to-day was the most
suitable thing I ever knew; and it's even a better thing for you than
for the people themselves."
"Poor child!" said Lady Harriet, who had caught a sight of Molly's
troubled face, "the thought of balls is too much for her just now;
but you'll like having Cynthia Kirkpatrick for a companion, shan't
you, dear?"
"Very much," said Molly, cheering up a little. "Do you know her?"
"Oh, I've seen her over and over again when she was a little girl,
and once or twice since. She's the prettiest creature that you ever
saw; and with eyes that mean mischief, if I'm not mistaken. But
Clare kept her spirit under pretty well when she was staying with
us,--afraid of her being troublesome, I fancy."
Before Molly could shape her next question, they were at the church;
and she and Lady Harriet went into a pew near the door to wait for
the bride, in whose train they were to proceed to the altar. The earl
drove on alone to fetch her from her own house, not a quarter of a
mile distant. It was pleasant to her to be led to the hymeneal altar
by a belted earl, and pleasant to have his daughter as a volunteer
bridesmaid. Mrs. Kirkpatrick in this flush of small gratifications,
and on the brink of matrimony with a man whom she liked, and who
would be bound to support her without any exertion of her own, looked
beamingly happy and handsome. A little cloud came over her face at
the sight of Mr. Preston,--the sweet perpetuity of her smile was
rather disturbed as he followed in Mr. Gibson's wake. But his face
never changed; he bowed to her gravely, and then seemed absorbed in
the service. Ten minutes, and all was over. The bride and bridegroom
were driving together to the Manor-house, Mr. Preston was walking
thither by a short cut, and Molly was again in the carriage with my
lord, rubbing his hands and chuckling, and Lady Harriet, trying to
be kind and consolatory, when her silence would have been the best
comfort.
Molly found out, to her dismay, that the plan was for her to return
with Lord Cumnor and Lady Harriet when they went back to the Towers
in the evening. In the meantime Lord Cumnor had business to do with
Mr. Preston, and after the happy couple had driven off on their
week's holiday tour, she was to be left alone with the formidable
Lady Harriet. When they were by themselves after all the others had
been thus disposed of, Lady Harriet sate still over the drawing-room
fire, holding a screen between it and her face, but gazing intently
at Molly for a minute or two. Molly was fully conscious of this
prolonged look, and was trying to get up her courage to return the
stare, when Lady Harriet suddenly said,--
"I like you;--you are a little wild creature, and I want to tame you.
Come here, and sit on this stool by me. What is your name? or what do
they call you?--as North-country people would express it."
"Molly Gibson. My real name is Mary."
"Molly is a nice, soft-sounding name. People in the last century
weren't afraid of homely names; now we are all so smart and fine: no
more 'Lady Bettys' now. I almost wonder they haven't re-christened
all the worsted and knitting-cotton that bears her name. Fancy Lady
Constantia's cotton, or Lady Anna-Maria's worsted."
"I didn't know there was a Lady Betty's cotton," said Molly.
"That proves you don't do fancy-work! You'll find Clare will set
you to it, though. She used to set me at piece after piece: knights
kneeling to ladies; impossible flowers. But I must do her the justice
to add that when I got tired of them she finished them herself. I
wonder how you'll get on together?"
"So do I!" sighed out Molly, under her breath.
"I used to think I managed her, till one day an uncomfortable
suspicion arose that all the time she had been managing me. Still
it's easy work to let oneself be managed; at any rate till one wakens
up to the consciousness of the process, and then it may become
amusing, if one takes it in that light."
"I should hate to be managed," said Molly, indignantly. "I'll try and
do what she wishes for papa's sake, if she'll only tell me outright;
but I should dislike to be trapped into anything."
"Now I," said Lady Harriet, "am too lazy to avoid traps; and I rather
like to remark the cleverness with which they're set. But then,
of course, I know that if I choose to exert myself, I can break
through the withes of green flax with which they try to bind me. Now,
perhaps, you won't be able."
"I don't quite understand what you mean," said Molly.
"Oh, well--never mind; I daresay it's as well for you that you
shouldn't. The moral of all I have been saying is, 'Be a good girl,
and suffer yourself to be led, and you'll find your new stepmother
the sweetest creature imaginable.' You'll get on capitally with her,
I make no doubt. How you'll get on with her daughter is another
affair; but I daresay very well. Now we'll ring for tea; for I
suppose that heavy breakfast is to stand for our lunch."
Mr. Preston came into the room just at this time, and Molly was a
little surprised at Lady Harriet's cool manner of dismissing him,
remembering as she did how Mr. Preston had implied his intimacy with
her ladyship the evening before at dinner-time.
"I cannot bear that sort of person," said Lady Harriet, almost before
he was out of hearing; "giving himself airs of gallantry towards
one to whom his simple respect is all his duty. I can talk to one
of my father's labourers with pleasure, while with a man like that
underbred fop I am all over thorns and nettles. What is it the Irish
call that style of creature? They've some capital word for it, I
know. What is it?"
"I don't know--I never heard it," said Molly, a little ashamed of her
ignorance.
"Oh! that shows you've never read Miss Edgeworth's tales;--now,
have you? If you had, you'd have recollected that there was such
a word, even if you didn't remember what it was. If you've never
read those stories, they would be just the thing to beguile your
solitude--vastly improving and moral, and yet quite sufficiently
interesting. I'll lend them to you while you're all alone."
"I'm not alone. I'm not at home, but on a visit to Miss Brownings."
"Then I'll bring them to you. I know the Miss Brownings; they used
to come regularly on the school-day to the Towers. Pecksy and Flapsy
I used to call them. I like the Miss Brownings; one gets enough of
respect from them at any rate; and I've always wanted to see the
kind of _mnage_ of such people. I'll bring you a whole pile of Miss
Edgeworth's stories, my dear."
Molly sate quite silent for a minute or two; then she mustered up
courage to speak out what was in her mind.
"Your ladyship" (the title was the firstfruits of the lesson, as
Molly took it, on paying due respect)--"your ladyship keeps speaking
of the sort of--the class of people to which I belong as if it was a
kind of strange animal you were talking about; yet you talk so openly
to me that--"
"Well, go on--I like to hear you."
Still silence.
"You think me in your heart a little impertinent--now, don't you?"
said Lady Harriet, almost kindly.
Molly held her peace for two or three moments; then she lifted her
beautiful, honest eyes to Lady Harriet's face, and said,--
"Yes!--a little. But I think you a great many other things."
"We'll leave the 'other things' for the present. Don't you see,
little one, I talk after my kind, just as you talk after your kind.
It's only on the surface with both of us. Why, I daresay some of your
good Hollingford ladies talk of the poor people in a manner which
they would consider as impertinent in their turn, if they could hear
it. But I ought to be more considerate when I remember how often
my blood has boiled at the modes of speech and behaviour of one of
my aunts, mamma's sister, Lady-- No! I won't name names. Any one
who earns his livelihood by any exercise of head or hands, from
professional people and rich merchants down to labourers, she calls
'persons.' She would never in her most slip-slop talk accord them
even the conventional title of 'gentlemen;' and the way in which
she takes possession of human beings, 'my woman,' 'my people,'--but,
after all, it is only a way of speaking. I ought not to have used
it to you; but somehow I separate you from all these Hollingford
people."
"But why?" persevered Molly. "I'm one of them."
"Yes, you are. But--now don't reprove me again for impertinence--most
of them are so unnatural in their exaggerated respect and admiration
when they come up to the Towers, and put on so much pretence by way
of fine manners, that they only make themselves objects of ridicule.
You at least are simple and truthful, and that's why I separate you
in my own mind from them, and have talked unconsciously to you as I
would--well! now here's another piece of impertinence--as I would to
my equal--in rank, I mean; for I don't set myself up in solid things
as any better than my neighbours. Here's tea, however, come in time
to stop me from growing too humble."
It was a very pleasant little tea in the fading September twilight.
Just as it was ended, in came Mr. Preston again:--
"Lady Harriet, will you allow me the pleasure of showing you some
alterations I have made in the flower-garden--in which I have tried
to consult your taste--before it grows dark?"
[Illustration: UNWELCOME ATTENTIONS.]
"Thank you, Mr. Preston. I will ride over with papa some day, and we
will see if we approve of them."
Mr. Preston's brow flushed. But he affected not to perceive Lady
Harriet's haughtiness, and, turning to Molly, he said,--
"Will not you come out, Miss Gibson, and see something of the
gardens? You haven't been out at all, I think, excepting to church."
Molly did not like the idea of going out for a walk with only Mr.
Preston; yet she pined for a little fresh air, would have been glad
to see the gardens, and look at the Manor-house from different
aspects; and, besides this, much as she recoiled from Mr. Preston,
she felt sorry for him under the repulse he had just received.
While she was hesitating, and slowly tending towards consent, Lady
Harriet spoke,--
"I cannot spare Miss Gibson. If she would like to see the place, I
will bring her over some day myself."
When he had left the room, Lady Harriet said,--"I daresay it's my own
lazy selfishness has kept you indoors all day against your will. But,
at any rate, you are not to go out walking with that man. I've an
instinctive aversion to him; not entirely instinctive either; it has
some foundation in fact; and I desire you don't allow him ever to get
intimate with you. He's a very clever land-agent, and does his duty
by papa, and I don't choose to be taken up for libel; but remember
what I say!"
Then the carriage came round, and after numberless last words from
the earl--who appeared to have put off every possible direction to
the moment when he stood, like an awkward Mercury, balancing himself
on the step of the carriage--they drove back to the Towers.
"Would you rather come in and dine with us--we should send you home,
of course--or go home straight?" asked Lady Harriet of Molly. She and
her father had both been sleeping till they drew up at the bottom of
the flight of steps.
"Tell the truth, now and evermore. Truth is generally amusing, if
it's nothing else!"
"I would rather go back to Miss Brownings' at once, please," said
Molly, with a nightmare-like recollection of the last, the only
evening she had spent at the Towers.
Lord Cumnor was standing on the steps, waiting to hand his daughter
out of the carriage. Lady Harriet stopped to kiss Molly on the
forehead, and to say,--
"I shall come some day soon, and bring you a load of Miss Edgeworth's
tales, and make further acquaintance with Pecksy and Flapsy."
"No, don't, please," said Molly, taking hold of her, to detain her.
"You must not come--indeed you must not."
"Why not?"
"Because I would rather not--because I think that I ought not to have
any one coming to see me who laughs at the friends I am staying with,
and calls them names." Molly's heart beat very fast, but she meant
every word that she said.
"My dear little woman!" said Lady Harriet, bending over her and
speaking quite gravely. "I'm very sorry to have called them
names--very, very sorry to have hurt you. If I promise you to be
respectful to them in word and in deed--and in very thought, if I
can--you'll let me then, won't you?"
Molly hesitated. "I'd better go home at once; I shall only say wrong
things--and there's Lord Cumnor waiting all this time."
"Let him alone; he's very well amused hearing all the news of the day
from Brown. Then I shall come--under promise?"
So Molly drove off in solitary grandeur; and Miss Brownings' knocker
was loosened on its venerable hinges by the never-ending peal of Lord
Cumnor's footman.
They were full of welcome, full of curiosity. All through the long
day they had been missing their bright young visitor, and three or
four times in every hour they had been wondering and settling what
everybody was doing at that exact minute. What had become of Molly
during all the afternoon, had been a great perplexity to them; and
they were very much oppressed with a sense of the great honour she
had received in being allowed to spend so many hours alone with
Lady Harriet. They were, indeed, more excited by this one fact than
by all the details of the wedding, most of which they had known
of beforehand, and talked over with much perseverance during the
day. Molly began to feel as if there was some foundation for Lady
Harriet's inclination to ridicule the worship paid by the good people
of Hollingford to their liege lord, and to wonder with what tokens
of reverence they would receive Lady Harriet if she came to pay her
promised visit. She had never thought of concealing the probability
of this call until this evening; but now she felt as if it would be
better not to speak of the chance, as she was not at all sure that
the promise would be fulfilled.
Before Lady Harriet's call was paid, Molly received another visit.
Roger Hamley came riding over one day with a note from his mother,
and a wasps'-nest as a present from himself. Molly heard his powerful
voice come sounding up the little staircase, as he asked if Miss
Gibson was at home from the servant-maid at the door; and she was
half amused and half annoyed as she thought how this call of his
would give colour to Miss Browning's fancies. "I would rather never
be married at all," thought she, "than marry an ugly man,--and dear
good Mr. Roger is really ugly; I don't think one could even call him
plain." Yet Miss Brownings, who did not look upon young men as if
their natural costume was a helmet and a suit of armour, thought
Mr. Roger Hamley a very personable young fellow, as he came into
the room, his face flushed with exercise, his white teeth showing
pleasantly in the courteous bow and smile he gave to all around. He
knew the Miss Brownings slightly, and talked pleasantly to them while
Molly read Mrs. Hamley's little missive of sympathy and good wishes
relating to the wedding; then he turned to her, and though Miss
Brownings listened with all their ears, they could not find out
anything remarkable either in the words he said or the tone in which
they were spoken.
"I've brought you the wasps'-nest I promised you, Miss Gibson. There
has been no lack of such things this year; we've taken seventy-four
on my father's land alone; and one of the labourers, a poor fellow
who ekes out his wages by bee-keeping, has had a sad misfortune--the
wasps have turned the bees out of his seven hives, taken possession,
and eaten up the honey."
"What greedy little vermin!" said Miss Browning.
Molly saw Roger's eyes twinkle at the misapplication of the word; but
though he had a strong sense of humour, it never appeared to diminish
his respect for the people who amused him.
"I'm sure they deserve fire and brimstone more than the poor dear
innocent bees," said Miss Phoebe. "And then it seems so ungrateful
of mankind, who are going to feast on the honey!" She sighed over the
thought, as if it was too much for her.
While Molly finished reading her note, he explained its contents to
Miss Browning.
"My brother and I are going with my father to an agricultural meeting
at Canonbury on Thursday, and my mother desired me to say to you how
very much obliged she should be if you would spare her Miss Gibson
for the day. She was very anxious to ask for the pleasure of your
company, too, but she really is so poorly that we persuaded her to
be content with Miss Gibson, as she wouldn't scruple leaving a young
lady to amuse herself, which she would be unwilling to do if you and
your sister were there."
"I'm sure she's very kind; very. Nothing would have given us more
pleasure," said Miss Browning, drawing herself up in gratified
dignity. "Oh, yes, we quite understand, Mr. Roger; and we fully
recognize Mrs. Hamley's kind intention. We will take the will for the
deed, as the common people express it. I believe that there was an
intermarriage between the Brownings and the Hamleys, a generation or
two ago."
"I daresay there was," said Roger. "My mother is very delicate, and
obliged to humour her health, which has made her keep aloof from
society."
"Then I may go?" said Molly, sparkling with the idea of seeing her
dear Mrs. Hamley again, yet afraid of appearing too desirous of
leaving her kind old friends.
"To be sure, my dear. Write a pretty note, and tell Mrs. Hamley how
much obliged to her we are for thinking of us."
"I'm afraid I can't wait for a note," said Roger. "I must take a
message instead, for I have to meet my father at one o'clock, and
it's close upon it now."
When he was gone, Molly felt so light-hearted at the thoughts of
Thursday that she could hardly attend to what the Miss Brownings were
saying. One was talking about the pretty muslin gown which Molly had
sent to the wash only that morning, and contriving how it could be
had back again in time for her to wear; and the other, Miss Phoebe,
totally inattentive to her sister's speaking for a wonder, was piping
out a separate strain of her own, and singing Roger Hamley's praises.
"Such a fine-looking young man, and so courteous and affable. Like
the young men of our youth now, is he not, sister? And yet they all
say Mr. Osborne is the handsomest. What do you think, child?"
"I've never seen Mr. Osborne," said Molly, blushing, and hating
herself for doing so. Why was it? She had never seen him as she said.
It was only that her fancy had dwelt on him so much.
He was gone--all the gentlemen were gone before the carriage, which
came to fetch Molly on Thursday, reached Hamley Hall. But Molly was
almost glad, she was so much afraid of being disappointed. Besides,
she had her dear Mrs. Hamley the more to herself; the quiet sit in
the morning-room, talking poetry and romance; the midday saunter into
the garden, brilliant with autumnal flowers and glittering dew-drops
on the gossamer webs that stretched from scarlet to blue, and thence
to purple and yellow petals. As they were sitting at lunch, a strange
man's voice and step were heard in the hall; the door was opened,
and a young man came in, who could be no other than Osborne. He was
beautiful and languid-looking, almost as frail in appearance as
his mother, whom he strongly resembled. This seeming delicacy made
him appear older than he was. He was dressed to perfection, and
yet with easy carelessness. He came up to his mother, and stood by
her, holding her hand, while his eyes sought Molly, not boldly or
impertinently, but as if appraising her critically.
"Yes! I'm back again. Bullocks, I find, are not in my line. I
only disappointed my father in not being able to appreciate their
merits, and, I'm afraid, I didn't care to learn. And the smell was
insufferable on such a hot day."
"My dear boy, don't make apologies to me; keep them for your father.
I'm only too glad to have you back. Miss Gibson, this tall fellow is
my son Osborne, as I daresay you have guessed. Osborne--Miss Gibson.
Now, what will you have?"
He looked round the table as he sate down. "Nothing here," said he.
"Isn't there some cold game-pie? I'll ring for that."
Molly was trying to reconcile the ideal with the real. The ideal was
agile, yet powerful, with Greek features and an eagle-eye, capable
of enduring long fasting, and indifferent as to what he ate. The
real was almost effeminate in movement, though not in figure; he had
the Greek features, but his blue eyes had a cold, weary expression
in them. He was dainty in eating, and had anything but a Homeric
appetite. However, Molly's hero was not to eat more than Ivanhoe,
when he was Friar Tuck's guest; and, after all, with a little
alteration, she began to think Mr. Osborne Hamley might turn out a
poetical, if not a chivalrous hero. He was extremely attentive to
his mother, which pleased Molly, and, in return, Mrs. Hamley seemed
charmed with him to such a degree that Molly once or twice fancied
that mother and son would have been happier in her absence. Yet,
again, it struck on the shrewd, if simple girl, that Osborne was
mentally squinting at her in the conversation which was directed to
his mother. There were little turns and 'fioriture' of speech which
Molly could not help feeling were graceful antics of language not
common in the simple daily intercourse between mother and son. But
it was flattering rather than otherwise to perceive that a very fine
young man, who was a poet to boot, should think it worth while to
talk on the tight rope for her benefit. And before the afternoon was
ended, without there having been any direct conversation between
Osborne and Molly, she had reinstated him on his throne in her
imagination; indeed, she had almost felt herself disloyal to her dear
Mrs. Hamley when, in the first hour after her introduction, she had
questioned his claims on his mother's idolatry. His beauty came out
more and more, as he became animated in some discussion with her; and
all his attitudes, if a little studied, were graceful in the extreme.
Before Molly left, the squire and Roger returned from Canonbury.
"Osborne here!" said the Squire, red and panting. "Why the deuce
couldn't you tell us you were coming home? I looked about for you
everywhere, just as we were going into the ordinary. I wanted to
introduce you to Grantley, and Fox, and Lord Forrest--men from the
other side of the county, whom you ought to know; and Roger there
missed above half his dinner hunting about for you; and all the time
you'd stole away, and were quietly sitting here with the women. I
wish you'd let me know the next time you make off. I've lost half my
pleasure in looking at as fine a lot of cattle as I ever saw, with
thinking you might be having one of your old attacks of faintness."
"I should have had one, I think, if I'd stayed longer in that
atmosphere. But I'm sorry if I've caused you anxiety."
"Well! well!" said the Squire, somewhat mollified. "And Roger,
too,--there I've been sending him here and sending him there all the
afternoon."
"I didn't mind it, sir. I was only sorry you were so uneasy. I
thought Osborne had gone home, for I knew it wasn't much in his way,"
said Roger.
Molly intercepted a glance between the two brothers--a look of true
confidence and love, which suddenly made her like them both under the
aspect of relationship--new to her observation.
Roger came up to her, and sat down by her.
"Well, and how are you getting on with Huber; don't you find him very
interesting?"
"I'm afraid," said Molly, penitently, "I haven't read much. Miss
Brownings like me to talk; and, besides, there is so much to do at
home before papa comes back; and Miss Browning doesn't like me to go
without her. I know it sounds nothing, but it does take up a great
deal of time."
"When is your father coming back?"
"Next Tuesday, I believe. He cannot stay long away."
"I shall ride over and pay my respects to Mrs. Gibson," said he. "I
shall come as soon as I may. Your father has been a very kind friend
to me ever since I was a boy. And when I come, I shall expect my
pupil to have been very diligent," he concluded, smiling his kind,
pleasant smile at idle Molly.
Then the carriage came round, and she had the long solitary drive
back to Miss Brownings'. It was dark out of doors when she got there;
but Miss Phoebe was standing on the stairs, with a lighted candle
in her hand, peering into the darkness to see Molly come in.
"Oh, Molly! I thought you'd never come back. Such a piece of news!
Sister has gone to bed; she's had a headache--with the excitement,
I think; but she says it's new bread. Come upstairs softly, my
dear, and I'll tell you what it is! Who do you think has been
here,--drinking tea with us, too, in the most condescending manner?"
"Lady Harriet?" said Molly, suddenly enlightened by the word
"condescending."
"Yes. Why, how did you guess it? But, after all, her call, at any
rate in the first instance, was upon you. Oh, dear Molly! if you're
not in a hurry to go to bed, let me sit down quietly and tell you all
about it; for my heart jumps into my mouth still when I think of how
I was caught. She--that is, her ladyship--left the carriage at 'The
George,' and took to her feet to go shopping--just as you or I may
have done many a time in our lives. And sister was taking her forty
winks; and I was sitting with my gown up above my knees and my feet
on the fender, pulling out my grandmother's lace which I'd been
washing. The worst has yet to be told. I'd taken off my cap, for I
thought it was getting dusk and no one would come, and there was I in
my black silk skull-cap, when Nancy put her head in, and whispered,
'There's a lady downstairs--a real grand one, by her talk;' and in
there came my Lady Harriet, so sweet and pretty in her ways, it was
some time before I remembered I had never a cap on. Sister never
wakened; or never roused up, so to say. She says she thought it was
Nancy bringing in the tea when she heard some one moving; for her
ladyship, as soon as she saw the state of the case, came and knelt
down on the rug by me, and begged my pardon so prettily for having
followed Nancy upstairs without waiting for permission; and was so
taken by my old lace, and wanted to know how I washed it, and where
you were, and when you'd be back, and when the happy couple would be
back: till sister wakened--she's always a little bit put out, you
know, when she first wakens from her afternoon nap,--and, without
turning her head to see who it was, she said, quite sharp,--'Buzz,
buzz, buzz! When will you learn that whispering is more fidgeting
than talking out loud? I've not been able to sleep at all for the
chatter you and Nancy have been keeping up all this time.' You know
that was a little fancy of sister's, for she'd been snoring away as
naturally as could be. So I went to her, and leant over her, and said
in a low voice,--
"'Sister, it's her ladyship and me that has been conversing.'
"'Ladyship here, ladyship there! have you lost your wits, Phoebe,
that you talk such nonsense--and in your skull-cap, too!'
"By this time she was sitting up--and, looking round her, she saw
Lady Harriet, in her velvets and silks, sitting on our rug, smiling,
her bonnet off, and her pretty hair all bright with the blaze of the
fire. My word! sister was up on her feet directly; and she dropped
her curtsey, and made her excuses for sleeping, as fast as might be,
while I went off to put on my best cap, for sister might well say I
was out of my wits to go on chatting to an earl's daughter in an old
black silk skull-cap. Black silk, too! when, if I'd only known she
was coming, I might have put on my new brown silk one, lying idle in
my top drawer. And when I came back, sister was ordering tea for her
ladyship,--our tea, I mean. So I took my turn at talk, and sister
slipped out to put on her Sunday silk. But I don't think we were
quite so much at our ease with her ladyship as when I sat pulling
out my lace in my skull-cap. And she was quite struck with our tea,
and asked where we got it, for she had never tasted any like it
before; and I told her we gave only 3_s._ 4_d._ a pound for it, at
Johnson's--(sister says I ought to have told her the price of our
company-tea, which is 5_s._ a pound, only that was not what we were
drinking; for, as ill-luck would have it, we'd none of it in the
house)--and she said she would send us some of hers, all the way
from Russia or Prussia, or some out-of-the-way place, and we were to
compare and see which we liked best; and if we liked hers best, she
could get it for us at 3_s._ a pound. And she left her love for you;
and, though she was going away, you were not to forget her. Sister
thought such a message would set you up too much, and told me she
would not be chargeable for the giving it you. 'But,' I said, 'a
message is a message, and it's on Molly's own shoulders if she's set
up by it. Let us show her an example of humility, sister, though we
have been sitting cheek-by-jowl in such company.' So sister humphed,
and said she'd a headache, and went to bed. And now you may tell me
your news, my dear."
So Molly told her small events; which, interesting as they might
have been at other times to the gossip-loving and sympathetic Miss
Phoebe, were rather pale in the stronger light reflected from the
visit of an earl's daughter.