That was the way in which Mrs. Gibson first broached her intention
of accompanying Cynthia up to London for a few days' visit. She had
a trick of producing the first sketch of any new plan before an
outsider to the family circle; so that the first emotions of others,
if they disapproved of her projects, had to be repressed, until the
idea had become familiar to them. To Molly it seemed too charming
a proposal ever to come to pass. She had never allowed herself to
recognize the restraint she was under in her stepmother's presence;
but all at once she found it out when her heart danced at the idea
of three whole days--for that it would be at the least--of perfect
freedom of intercourse with her father; of old times come back again;
of meals without perpetual fidgetiness after details of ceremony and
correctness of attendance.
"We'll have bread-and-cheese for dinner, and eat it on our knees;
we'll make up for having had to eat sloppy puddings with a fork
instead of a spoon all this time, by putting our knives in our mouths
till we cut ourselves. Papa shall pour his tea into his saucer if
he's in a hurry; and if I'm thirsty, I'll take the slop-basin. And
oh, if I could but get, buy, borrow, or steal any kind of an old
horse; my grey skirt isn't new, but it will do;--that would be too
delightful! After all, I think I can be happy again; for months and
months it has seemed as if I had got too old ever to feel pleasure,
much less happiness again."
So thought Molly. Yet she blushed, as if with guilt, when Cynthia,
reading her thoughts, said to her one day,--
"Molly, you're very glad to get rid of us, are not you?"
"Not of you, Cynthia; at least, I don't think I am. Only, if you but
knew how I love papa, and how I used to see a great deal more of him
than I ever do now--"
"Ah! I often think what interlopers we must seem, and are in fact--"
"I don't feel you as such. You, at any rate, have been a new delight
to me--a sister; and I never knew how charming such a relationship
could be."
"But mamma?" said Cynthia, half-suspiciously, half-sorrowfully.
"She is papa's wife," said Molly, quietly. "I don't mean to say I'm
not often very sorry to feel I'm no longer first with him; but it
was"--the violent colour flushed into her face till even her eyes
burnt, and she suddenly found herself on the point of crying; the
weeping ash-tree, the misery, the slow dropping comfort, and the
comforter came all so vividly before her--"it was Roger!"--she went
on looking up at Cynthia, as she overcame her slight hesitation at
mentioning his name--"Roger, who told me how I ought to take papa's
marriage, when I was first startled and grieved at the news. Oh,
Cynthia, what a great thing it is to be loved by him!"