Yet he rode slowly, compelling himself to quietness and patience when
he was once really on the way to her.
"Mrs. Gibson at home? Miss Kirkpatrick?" he asked of the servant,
Maria, who opened the door. She was confused, but he did not notice
it.
"I think so--I'm not sure! Will you walk up into the drawing-room,
sir? Miss Gibson is there, I know."
So he went upstairs, all his nerves on the strain for the coming
interview with Cynthia. It was either a relief or a disappointment,
he was not sure which, to find only Molly in the room:--Molly, half
lying on the couch in the bow-window which commanded the garden;
draped in soft white drapery, very white herself, and a laced
half-handkerchief tied over her head to save her from any ill effects
of the air that blew in through the open window. He was so ready to
speak to Cynthia that he hardly knew what to say to any one else.
"I am afraid you are not so well," he said to Molly, who sat up to
receive him, and who suddenly began to tremble with emotion.
"I'm a little tired, that's all," said she; and then she was quite
silent, hoping that he might go, and yet somehow wishing him to stay.
But he took a chair and placed it near her, opposite to the window.
He thought that surely Maria would tell Miss Kirkpatrick that she was
wanted, and that at any moment he might hear her light quick footstep
on the stairs. He felt he ought to talk, but he could not think of
anything to say. The pink flush came out on Molly's cheeks; once or
twice she was on the point of speaking, but again she thought better
of it; and the pauses between their faint disjointed remarks became
longer and longer. Suddenly, in one of these pauses, the merry murmur
of distant happy voices in the garden came nearer and nearer; Molly
looked more and more uneasy and flushed, and in spite of herself
kept watching Roger's face. He could see over her into the garden. A
sudden deep colour overspread him, as if his heart had sent its blood
out coursing at full gallop. Cynthia and Mr. Henderson had come in
sight; he eagerly talking to her as he bent forward to look into her
face; she, her looks half averted in pretty shyness, was evidently
coquetting about some flowers, which she either would not give,
or would not take. Just then, for the lovers had emerged from the
shrubbery into comparatively public life, Maria was seen approaching;
apparently she had feminine tact enough to induce Cynthia to leave
her present admirer, and to go a few steps to meet her to receive
the whispered message that Mr. Roger Hamley was there, and wished to
speak to her. Roger could see her startled gesture; she turned back
to say something to Mr. Henderson before coming towards the house.
Now Roger spoke to Molly--spoke hurriedly, spoke hoarsely.