"It cannot be!" said Mr. Coxe. "Mr. Gibson, there must be some
mistake. I have gone as far as I dared in expressing my feelings,
and her manner has been most gracious. I don't think she could have
misunderstood my meaning. Perhaps she has changed her mind? It is
possible that, after consideration, she has learnt to prefer another,
is it not?"
"By 'another,' you mean yourself, I suppose. I can believe in such
inconstancy" (he could not help, in his own mind, giving a slight
sneer at the instance before him), "but I should be very sorry to
think that Miss Kirkpatrick could be guilty of it."
"But she may--it is a chance. Will you allow me to see her?"
"Certainly, my poor fellow"--for, intermingled with a little
contempt, was a good deal of respect for the simplicity, the
unworldliness, the strength of feeling, even though the feeling was
evanescent--"I will send her to you directly."
"Thank you, sir. God bless you for a kind friend!"
Mr. Gibson went upstairs to the drawing-room, where he was pretty
sure he should find Cynthia. There she was, as bright and careless as
usual, making up a bonnet for her mother, and chattering to Molly as
she worked.
"Cynthia, you will oblige me by going down into my consulting-room at
once. Mr. Coxe wants to speak to you!"
"Mr. Coxe?" said Cynthia. "What can he want with me?"
Evidently, she answered her own question as soon as it was asked, for
she coloured, and avoided meeting Mr. Gibson's severe, uncompromising
look. As soon as she had left the room, Mr. Gibson sat down,
and took up a new _Edinburgh_ lying on the table, as an excuse
for conversation. Was there anything in the article that made
him say, after a minute or two, to Molly, who sat silent and
wondering--"Molly, you must never trifle with the love of an honest
man. You don't know what pain you may give."
Presently Cynthia came back into the drawing-room, looking very
much confused. Most likely she would not have returned if she had
known that Mr. Gibson was still there; but it was such an unheard-of
thing for him to be sitting in that room in the middle of the day,
reading or making pretence to read, that she had never thought of his
remaining. He looked up at her the moment she came in, so there was
nothing for it but putting a bold face on it, and going back to her
work.
"Is Mr. Coxe still downstairs?" asked Mr. Gibson.
"No. He is gone. He asked me to give you both his kind regards. I
believe he is leaving this afternoon." Cynthia tried to make her
manner as commonplace as possible; but she did not look up, and her
voice trembled a little.