"But this is no marriage with Lord Hollingford, so it is nonsense to
talk as if it was. They say you've gone and engaged yourself to Mr.
Preston, and now refuse to marry him; and they call that jilting."
"Do you wish me to marry him, mamma?" asked Cynthia, her face in
a flame, her eyes cast down. Molly stood by, very hot, not fully
understanding it; and only kept where she was by the hope of coming
in as sweetener or peacemaker, or helper of some kind.
"No," said Mrs. Gibson, evidently discomfited by the question. "Of
course I don't; you have gone and entangled yourself with Roger
Hamley, a very worthy young man; but nobody knows where he is, and if
he's dead or alive; and he has not a penny if he is alive."
"I beg your pardon. I know that he has some fortune from his mother;
it may not be much, but he is not penniless; and he is sure to
earn fame and great reputation, and with it money will come," said
Cynthia.
"You've entangled yourself with him, and you've done something of the
sort with Mr. Preston, and got yourself into such an imbroglio" (Mrs.
Gibson could not have said "mess" for the world, although the word
was present to her mind), "that when a really eligible person comes
forward--handsome, agreeable, and quite the gentleman--and a good
private fortune into the bargain, you have to refuse him. You'll end
as an old maid, Cynthia, and it will break my heart."
"I daresay I shall," said Cynthia, quietly. "I sometimes think I'm
the kind of person of which old maids are made!" She spoke seriously,
and a little sadly.
Mrs. Gibson began again. "I don't want to know your secrets as long
as they are secrets; but when all the town is talking about you, I
think I ought to be told."
"But, mamma, I didn't know I was such a subject of conversation; and
even now I can't make out how it has come about."
"No more can I. I only know that they say you've been engaged to Mr.
Preston, and ought to have married him, and that I can't help it, if
you did not choose, any more than I could have helped your refusing
Mr. Henderson; and yet I am constantly blamed for your misconduct.
I think it's very hard." Mrs. Gibson began to cry. Just then her
husband came in.
"You here, my dear! Welcome back," said he, coming up to her
courteously, and kissing her cheek. "Why, what's the matter? Tears?"
and he heartily wished himself away again.