'It only makes it curl more and more when it gets dry,' said Molly, sudden tears coming into her eyes as a recollection came before her like a picture seen long ago and forgotten for years - a young mother washing and dressing her little girl; placing the half-naked darling on her knee, and twining the wet rings of dark hair fondly round her fingers, and then, in an ecstasy of fondness, kissing the little curly head.
The receipt of Cynthia's letters made very agreeable events.She did not write often, but her letters were tolerably long when they did come, and very sprightly in tone.There was constant mention made of many new names, which conveyed no idea to Molly, though Mrs Gibson would try and enlighten her by running commentaries like the following, -'Mrs Green! ah, that's Mr Jones's pretty cousin, who lives in Russell Square with the fat husband.They keep their carriage; but I'm not sure if it is not Mr Green who is Mrs Jones's cousin.We can ask Cynthia when she comes home.Mr Henderson! to be sure - a young man with black whiskers, a pupil of Mr Kirkpatrick's formerly, - or was he a pupil of Mr Murray's?
I know they said he had read law with somebody.Ah, yes! they are the people who called the day after Mr Rawson's ball, and who admired Cynthia so much, without knowing I was her mother.She was very handsomely dressed indeed, in black satin; and the son had a glass eye, but he was a young man of good property.Coleman! yes, that was the name.'
No more news of Roger until some time after Cynthia had returned from her London visit.She came back looking fresher and prettier than ever, beautifully dressed, thanks to her own good taste, and her cousins' generosity, full of amusing details of the gay life she had been enjoying, yet not at all out of spirits at having left it behind her.She brought home all sorts of pretty and dainty devices for Molly; a neck ribbon made up in the newest fashion, a pattern for a tippet, a delicate pair of light gloves embroidered as Molly had never seen gloves embroidered before, and many another little sign of remembrance during her absence.Yet somehow or other, Molly felt that Cynthia was changed in her relation to her.Molly was aware that she had never had Cynthia's full confidence, for with all her apparent frankness and naïvet?of manner, Cynthia was extremely reserved and reticent.She knew this much of herself, and had often laughed about it to Molly, and the latter had found out the truth of her friend's assertion for herself.But Molly did not trouble herself much about this, She too knew that there were many thoughts and feelings that flitted through her mind that she should never think of telling to any one, except perhaps - if they were ever very much thrown together - to her father.She knew r that Cynthia withheld from her more than thoughts and feelings - that she withheld facts.But then, as Molly reflected, these facts might involve details of struggle and suffering, might relate to her mother's neglect, and altogether be of so painful a character, that it would be well if Cynthia could forget her childhood altogether, instead of fixing it in her mind by the relation of her grievances and troubles.So it was not now by any want of confidence that Molly felt distanced as it were.It was because Cynthia rather avoided than sought her companionship; because her eyes shunned the straight, serious, loving look of Molly's; because there were certain subjects on which she evidently disliked speaking, not particularly interesting things as far as Molly could perceive, but it almost seemed as if they lay on the road to points to be avoided.Molly felt a sort of sighing pleasure in noticing Cynthia's changed manner of talking about Roger.She spoke of him tenderly now; 'poor Roger,' as she called him;and Molly thought that she must be referring to the illness which he had mentioned in his last letter.One morning in the first week after Cynthia's return home, just as he was going out, Mr Gibson ran up into the drawing-room, hat on, booted and spurred, and hastily laid an open pamphlet down before her; pointing out a particular passage with his finger, but not speaking a word before he rapidly quitted the room.His eyes were sparkling, and had an amused as well as pleased expression.All this Molly noticed, as well as Cynthia's flush of colour as she read what was thus pointed out to her.Then she pushed it a little on one side, not closing the book however, and went on with her work.
'What is it? may I see it?' asked Molly, stretching out her hand for the pamphlet, which lay within her reach.But she did not take it until Cynthia had said, -'Certainly, I don't suppose there are any great secrets in a scientific journal, full of reports of meetings.' And she gave the book a little push towards Molly..
'Oh, Cynthia!' said Molly, catching her breath as she read, Care you not proud?' For it was an account of an annual gathering of the Geographical Society, and Lord Hollingford had read a letter he had received from Roger Hamley, dated from Arracuoba, a district in Africa, hitherto unvisited by any intelligent European traveller; and about which, Mr Hamley sent many curious particulars.The reading of this letter had been received with the greatest interest, and several subsequent speakers had paid the writer very high compliments.
But Molly might have known Cynthia better than to expect an answer responsive to the feelings that prompted her question.Let Cynthia be ever so proud, ever so glad, or so grateful, or even indignant, remorseful, grieved or sorry, the very fact that she was expected by another to entertain any of these emotions, would have been enough to prevent her expressing them.
