‘That it was,’ said Molly, who remembered her own day of tribulation there.

’And once I went to London, to stay with my uncle Kirkpatrick.  He is a lawyer, and getting on now; but then he was poor enough, and had six or seven children.  It was wintertime, and we were all shut up in a small house in Doughty Street.  But, after all, that wasn’t so bad.’

’But then you lived with your mother when she began school at Ashcombe.  Mr. Preston told me that, when I stayed that day at the Manor-house.’

‘What did he tell you?’ asked Cynthia, almost fiercely.

’Nothing but that.  Oh, yes!  He praised your beauty, and wanted me to tell you what he had said.’

‘I should have hated you if you had,’ said Cynthia.

‘Of course I never thought of doing such a thing,’ replied Molly.  ’I didn’t like him; and Lady Harriet spoke of him the next day as if he wasn’t a person to be liked.’

Cynthia was quite silent.  At length she said,—­

‘I wish I was good!’

‘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.’

’Don’t be so pedantically truthful, Molly.  Besides, your manner shows when you speak truth and when you speak falsehood, without troubling yourself to use words.  I knew exactly what your “I don’t know” meant.  I never consider myself bound to be truthful, so I beg we may be on equal terms.’