If Miss Browning thought that her final blessing would secure peace in the room she was leaving, she was very much mistaken; Mrs. Gibson burst out with,—­

’Try and do my duty, indeed!  I should be much obliged to you, Molly, if you would take care not to behave in such a manner as to bring down upon me such impertinence as I have just been receiving from Miss Browning.’

‘But I don’t know what made her talk as she did, mamma,’ said Molly.

’I’m sure I don’t know, and I don’t care either.  But I know that I never was spoken to as if I was trying to do my duty before,—­“trying” indeed! everybody always knew that I did it, without talking about it before my face in that rude manner.  I’ve that deep feeling about duty that I think it ought only to be talked about in church, and in such sacred places as that; not to have a common caller startling one with it, even though she was an early friend of your mother’s.  And as if I did not look after you quite as much as I look after Cynthia!  Why, it was only yesterday I went up into Cynthia’s room and found her reading a letter that she put away in a hurry as soon as I came in, and I did not even ask her who it was from, and I am sure I should have made you tell me.’

Very likely.  Mrs. Gibson shrank from any conflicts with Cynthia, pretty sure that she would be worsted in the end; while Molly generally submitted, sooner than have any struggle for her own will.

Just then Cynthia came in.

‘What’s the matter?’ said she quickly, seeing that something was wrong.

’Why, Molly has been doing something which has set that impertinent Miss Browning off into lecturing me on trying to do my duty!  If your poor father had but lived, Cynthia, I should never have been spoken to as I have been.  “A stepmother trying to do her duty”, indeed.  That was Miss Browning’s expression.’

Any allusion to her father took from Cynthia all desire of irony.  She came forwards, and again asked Molly what was the matter.

Molly, herself ruffled, made answer,—­

’Miss Browning seemed to think I was likely to marry some one whose character was objectionable—­’

‘You, Molly?’ said Cynthia.

’Yes—­she once before spoke to me,—­I suspect she has got some notion about Mr. Preston in her head—­’

Cynthia sate down quite suddenly.  Molly went on,—­’and she spoke as if mamma did not look enough after me,—­I think she was rather provoking—­’

‘Not rather, but very—­very impertinent,’ said Mrs. Gibson, a little soothed by Molly’s recognition of her grievance.

‘What could have put it into her head?’ said Cynthia, very quietly, taking up her sewing as she spoke.

‘I don’t know,’ said her mother, replying to the question after her own fashion.  ’I’m sure I don’t always approve of Mr. Preston; but even if it was him she was thinking about, he’s far more agreeable than she is; and I had much rather have him coming to call than an old maid like her any day.’