"Mr. Roger Hamley," was announced. "So tiresome!" said Mrs. Gibson,
almost in his hearing, as she pushed away her embroidery frame. She
put out her cold, motionless hand to him, with a half-murmured word
of welcome, still eyeing her lost embroidery. He took no apparent
notice, and passed on to the window.
"How delicious!" said he. "No need for any more Hamley roses now
yours are out."
"I agree with you," said Mrs. Gibson, replying to him before either
Cynthia or Molly could speak, though he addressed his words to them.
"You have been very kind in bringing us flowers so long; but now our
own are out we need not trouble you any more."
He looked at her with a little surprise clouding his honest face; it
was perhaps more at the tone than the words. Mrs. Gibson, however,
had been bold enough to strike the first blow, and she determined
to go on as opportunity offered. Molly would perhaps have been more
pained if she had not seen Cynthia's colour rise. She waited for her
to speak, if need were; for she knew that Roger's defence, if defence
were required, might be safely entrusted to Cynthia's ready wit.
He put out his hand for the shattered cluster of roses that lay in
Cynthia's lap.
"At any rate," said he, "my trouble--if Mrs. Gibson considers it has
been a trouble to me--will be over-paid, if I may have this."
"Old lamps for new," said Cynthia, smiling as she gave it to him. "I
wish one could always buy nosegays such as you have brought us, as
cheaply."
"You forget the waste of time that, I think, we must reckon as part
of the payment," said her mother. "Really, Mr. Hamley, we must learn
to shut our doors on you if you come so often, and at such early
hours! I settle myself to my own employment regularly after breakfast
till lunch-time; and it is my wish to keep Cynthia and Molly to a
course of improving reading and study--so desirable for young people
of their age, if they are ever to become intelligent, companionable
women; but with early visitors it is quite impossible to observe any
regularity of habits."
All this was said in that sweet, false tone which of late had gone
through Molly like the scraping of a slate-pencil on a slate. Roger's
face changed. His ruddy colour grew paler for a moment, and he looked
grave and not pleased. In another moment the wonted frankness of
expression returned. Why should not he, he asked himself, believe
her? It was early to call; it did interrupt regular occupation. So he
spoke, and said,--