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but without a thump.

      "I don't say but what if Roger is gaining five hundred a year by the time he's thirty, he shall not choose a wife with ten thousand pounds down; but I do say, if a boy of mine, with only two hundred a year—which is all Roger will have from us, and that not for a long time—goes and marries a woman with fifty thousand to her portion, I'll disown him—it would be just disgusting."

      "Not if they loved each other, and their whole happiness depended upon their marrying each other," put in Mrs. Hamley, mildly.

      "Pooh! away with love! Nay, my dear, we loved each other so dearly we should never have been happy with any one else; but that's a different thing. People aren't like what they were when we were young. All the love nowadays is just silly fancy, and sentimental romance, as far as I can see."

      Mr. Gibson thought that he had settled everything about Molly's going to Hamley before he spoke to her about it, which he did not do, until the morning of the day on which Mrs. Hamley expected her. Then he said,—"By the way, Molly! you're to go to Hamley this afternoon; Mrs. Hamley wants you to go to her for a week or two, and it suits me capitally that you should accept her invitation just now."

      "Go to Hamley! This afternoon! Papa, you've got some odd reason at the back of your head—some mystery, or something. Please, tell me what it is. Go to Hamley for a week or two! Why, I never was from home before this without you in all my life."

      "Perhaps not. I don't think you ever walked before you put your feet to the ground. Everything must have a beginning."

      "It has something to do with that letter that was directed to me, but that you took out of my hands before I could even see the writing of the direction." She fixed her grey eyes on her father's face, as if she meant to pluck out his secret.

      He only smiled and said,—"You're a witch, goosey!"

      "Then it had! But if it was a note from Mrs. Hamley, why might I not see it? I have been wondering if you had some plan in your head ever since that day.—Thursday, wasn't it? You've gone about in a kind of thoughtful, perplexed way, just like a conspirator. Tell me, papa"—coming up to him, and putting on a beseeching manner—"why mightn't I see that note? and why am I to go to Hamley all on a sudden?"

      "Don't you like to go? Would you rather not?" If she had said that she did not want to go he would have been rather pleased than otherwise, although it would have put him into a great perplexity; but he was beginning to dread the parting from her even for so short a time. However, she replied directly,—

      "I don't know—I daresay I shall like it when I have thought a little more about it. Just now I'm so startled by the suddenness of the affair, I haven't considered whether I shall like it or not. I shan't like going away from you, I know. Why am I to go, papa?"

      "There are three old ladies sitting somewhere, and thinking about you just at this very minute; one has a distaff in her hands, and is spinning a thread; she has come to a knot in it, and is puzzled what to do with it. Her sister has a great pair of scissors in her hands, and wants—as she always does, when any difficulty arises in the smoothness of the thread—to cut it off short; but the third, who has the most head of the three, plans how to undo the knot; and she it is who has decided that you are to go to Hamley. The others are quite convinced by her arguments; so, as the Fates have decreed that this visit is to be paid, there is nothing left for you and me but to submit."

      "That's all nonsense, papa, and you're only making me more curious to find out this hidden reason."

      Mr. Gibson changed his tone, and spoke gravely now. "There is a reason, Molly, and one which I do not wish to give. When I tell you this much, I expect you to be an honourable girl, and to try and not even conjecture what the reason may be,—much less endeavour to put little discoveries together till very likely you may find out what I want to conceal."

      "Papa, I won't even think about your reason again. But then I shall have to plague you with another question. I've had no new gown this year, and I've outgrown all my last summer frocks. I've only three that I can wear at all. Betty was saying only yesterday that I ought to have some more."

      "That'll do that you have got on, won't it? It's a very pretty colour."

      "Yes; but, papa" (holding it out as if she was going to dance), "it's made of woollen, and so hot and heavy; and every day it will be getting warmer."

      "I wish girls could dress like boys," said Mr. Gibson, with a little impatience. "How is a man to know when his daughter wants clothes? and how is he to rig her out when he finds it out, just when she needs them most and hasn't got them?"

      "Ah, that's the question!" said Molly, in some despair.

      "Can't you go to Miss Rose's? Doesn't she keep ready-made frocks for girls of your age?"

      "Miss Rose! I never had anything from her in my life," replied Molly, in some surprise; for Miss Rose was the great dressmaker and milliner of the little town, and hitherto Betty had made the girl's frocks.

      "Well, but it seems people consider you as a young woman now, and so I suppose you must run up milliners' bills like the rest of your kind. Not that you're to get anything anywhere that you can't pay for down in ready money. Here's a ten-pound note; go to Miss Rose's, or Miss anybody's, and get what you want at once. The Hamley carriage is to come for you at two, and anything that isn't quite ready, can easily be sent by their cart on Saturday, when some of their people always come to market. Nay, don't thank me! I don't want to have the money spent, and I don't want you to go and leave me: I shall miss you, I know; it's only hard necessity that drives me to send you a-visiting, and to throw away ten pounds on your clothes. There, go away; you're a plague, and I mean to leave off loving you as fast as I can."

      "Papa!" holding up her finger as in warning, "you're getting mysterious again; and though my honourableness is very strong, I won't promise that it shall not yield to my curiosity if you go on hinting at untold secrets."

      "Go away and spend your ten pounds. What did I give it you for but to keep you quiet?"

      Miss Rose's ready-made resources and Molly's taste combined, did not arrive at a very great success. She bought a lilac print, because it would wash, and would be cool and pleasant for the mornings; and this Betty could make at home before Saturday. And for high-days and holidays—by which was understood afternoons and Sundays—Miss Rose persuaded her to order a gay-coloured flimsy plaid silk, which she assured her was quite the latest fashion in London, and which Molly thought would please her father's Scotch blood. But when he saw the scrap which she had brought home as a pattern, he cried out that the plaid belonged to no clan in existence, and that Molly ought to have known this by instinct. It was too late to change it, however, for Miss Rose had promised to cut the dress out as soon as Molly left her shop.

      Mr. Gibson had hung about the town all the morning instead of going away on his usual distant rides. He passed his daughter once or twice in the street, but he did not cross over when he was on the opposite side—only gave her a look or a nod, and went on his way, scolding himself for his weakness in feeling so much pain at the thought of her absence for a fortnight or so.

      "And, after all," thought he, "I'm only where I was when she comes back; at least, if that foolish fellow goes on with his imaginating fancy. She'll have to come back some time, and if he chooses to imagine himself constant, there's still the devil to pay." Presently he began to hum the air out of the "Beggar's Opera"—

      I wonder any man alive

       Should ever rear a daughter.

      Chapter VI.

       A Visit to the Hamleys

       Table of Contents

      Of course the news of Miss Gibson's approaching departure had spread through the household before the one o'clock dinner-time came; and Mr. Coxe's dismal countenance was a source of much inward irritation to Mr. Gibson, who kept giving the youth sharp glances of savage reproof for his melancholy face, and want of appetite; which he trotted

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