There was another long evening to be got through with Mrs Gibson; but on this occasion there was the pleasant occupation of dinner, which took up at least an hour; for it was one of Mrs Gibson's fancies - one which Molly chafed against - to have every ceremonial gone through in the same stately manner for two as for twenty.So, although Molly knew full well, and her stepmother knew full well, and Maria knew full well, that neither Mrs Gibson nor Molly touched dessert, it was set on the table with as much form as if Cynthia had been at home, who delighted in almonds and raisins;or Mr Gibson been there, who never could resist dates, although he always protested against 'persons in their station of life having a formal dessert set out before them every day.'
And Mrs Gibson herself apologized as it were to Molly to-day, in the same words she had often used to Mr Gibson, - 'It's no extravagance, for we need not eat it - I never do.But it looks well, and makes Maria understand what is required in the daily life of every family of position.'
All through the evening Molly's thoughts wandered far and wide, though she managed to keep up a show of attention to what Mrs Gibson was saying.
She was thinking of Osborne, and his abrupt, half-finished confidence, his ill-looks; she was wondering when Roger would come home, and longing for his return, as much (she said to herself) for Osborne's sake as for her own.And then she checked herself.What had she to do with Roger? Why should she long for his return? It was Cynthia who was doing this; only somehow he was such a true friend to Molly, that she could not help thinking of him as a staff and a stay in the troublous times which appeared to lie not far ahead this evening.Then Mr Preston and her little adventure with him came uppermost.How angry he looked! How could Cynthia have liked him even enough to get into this abominable scrape, which was, however, all over now! And so she ran on in her fancies and imaginations, little dreaming that that very night much talk was going on not half-a-mile from where she sate sewing, that would prove that the 'scrape' (as she called it, in her girlish phraseology) was not all over.
Scandal sleeps in the summer, comparatively speaking.Its nature is the reverse of that of the dormouse.Warm ambient air, loiterings abroad, gardenings, flowers to talk about, and preserves to make, soothed the wicked imp to slumber in the parish of Hollingford in summer-time.But when evenings grew short, and people gathered round the fires, and put their feet in a circle - not on the fenders, that was not allowed - then was the time for confidential conversation! Or in the pauses allowed for the tea-trays to circulate among the card-tables - when those who were peaceably inclined tried to stop the warm discussions about 'the odd trick,' and the rather wearisome feminine way of 'shouldering the crutch, and showing how fields were won' - small crumbs and scraps of daily news came up to the surface, such as 'Martindale has raised the price of his best joints a halfpenny in the pound;' or 'it's a shame of Sir Harry to order in another book on farriery into the Book Society; Phoebe and I tried to read it, but really there is no general interest in it;' or, 'I wonder what Mr Ashton will do, now Nancy is going to be married! Why, she has been with him these seventeen years! It's a very foolish thing for a woman of her age to be thinking of matrimony; and so I told her, when I met her in the market-place this morning!'
So said Miss Browning on the night in question; her hand of cards lying by her on the green baize-covered table, while she munched the rich pound-cake of a certain Mrs Dawes, lately come to inhabit Hollingford.
'Matrimony's not so bad as you think for, Miss Browning,' said Mrs Goodenough, standing up for the holy estate into which she had twice entered.'If Ihad ha' seen Nancy, I should ha' given her my mind very different.It's a great thing to be able to settle what you'll have for dinner, without never a one interfering with you.'
'If that's all!' said Miss Browning, drawing herself up, 'I can do that;and, perhaps, better than a woman who has a husband to please.'
'No one can say as I didn't please my husbands - both on 'em, though Jeremy was tickler' in his tastes than poor Harry Beaver.But as I used to say to 'em, "Leave the victual to me; it's better for you than knowing what's to come beforehand.The stomach likes to be taken by surprise."And neither of 'em ever repented 'em of their confidence.You may take my word for it, beans and bacon will taste better (and Mr Ashton's Nancy in her own house) than all the sweetbreads and spring chickens she's been a-doing for him this seventeen years.But if I chose I could tell you of something as would interest you all a deal more than old Nancy's marriage to a widower with nine children - only as the young folks themselves is meeting in private, clandestine-like, it's perhaps not for me to tell their secrets.'