"Cynthia, what makes you dislike Mr. Preston so much?"
"Don't you? Why do you ask me? and yet, Molly," said she, suddenly
relaxing into depression, not merely in tone and look, but in the
droop of her limbs--"Molly, what should you think of me if I married
him after all?"
"Married him! Has he ever asked you?"
But Cynthia, instead of replying to this question, went on, uttering
her own thoughts,--"More unlikely things have happened. Have you
never heard of strong wills mesmerizing weaker ones into submission?
One of the girls at Madame Lefevre's went out as a governess to a
Russian family, who lived near Moscow. I sometimes think I'll write
to her to find me a situation in Russia, just to get out of the daily
chance of seeing that man!"
"But sometimes you seem quite intimate with him, and talk to him--"
"How can I help it?" said Cynthia impatiently. Then recovering
herself she added: "We knew him so well at Ashcombe, and he's not a
man to be easily thrown off, I can tell you. I must be civil to him;
it's not from liking, and he knows it's not, for I've told him so.
However, we won't talk about him. I don't know how we came to do it,
I'm sure: the mere fact of his existence, and of his being within
half a mile of us, is bad enough. Oh! I wish Roger was at home,
and rich, and could marry me at once, and carry me away from that
man! If I'd thought of it, I really believe I would have taken poor
red-haired Mr. Coxe."
"I don't understand it at all," said Molly. "I dislike Mr. Preston,
but I should never think of taking such violent steps as you speak
of, to get away from the neighbourhood in which he lives."
"No, because you are a reasonable little darling," said Cynthia,
resuming her usual manner, and coming up to Molly, and kissing her.
"At least you'll acknowledge I'm a good hater!"
"Yes. But still I don't understand it."
"Oh, never mind! There are old complications with our affairs at
Ashcombe. Money matters are at the root of it all. Horrid poverty--do
let us talk of something else! Or, better still, let me go and finish
my letter to Roger, or I shall be too late for the African mail!"
"Isn't it gone? Oh, I ought to have reminded you! It will be too
late. Did you not see the notice at the post-office that letters
ought to be in London on the morning of the 10th instead of the
evening. Oh, I am so sorry!"