There came a time—not very distant from the evening at Mrs. Dawes’—when Molly felt that people looked askance at her. Mrs. Goodenough openly pulled her granddaughter away, when the young girl stopped to speak to Molly in the street, and an engagement which the two had made for a long walk together was cut very short by a very trumpery excuse. Mrs. Goodenough explained her conduct in the following manner to some of her friends:—
‘You see, I don’t think the worse of a girl for meeting her sweetheart here and there and everywhere, till she gets talked about; but then when she does—and Molly Gibson’s name is in everybody’s mouth—I think it’s only fair to Bessy, who has trusted me with Annabella, not to let her daughter be seen with a lass who has managed her matters so badly as to set folk talking about her. My maxim is this,—and it’s a very good working one, you may depend on’t—women should mind what they’re about, and never be talked of; and if a woman’s talked of, the less her friends have to do with her till the talk has died away, the better. So Annabella is not to have anything to do with Molly Gibson this visit at any rate.’
For a good while the Miss Brownings were kept in ignorance of the evil tongues that whispered hard words about Molly. Miss Browning was known to ‘have a temper,’ and by instinct every one who came in contact with her shrank from irritating that temper by uttering the slightest syllable against the smallest of those creatures over whom she spread the aegis of her love. She would and did reproach them herself; she used to boast that she never spared them; but no one else might touch them with the slightest slur of a passing word. But Miss Phoebe inspired no such terror; the great reason why she did not hear of the gossip against Molly as early as any one, was that, although she was not the rose, she lived near the rose. Besides, she was of so tender a nature that even thick-skinned Mrs. Goodenough was unwilling to say what would give her pain; and it was the new-comer, Mrs. Dawes, who in all ignorance alluded to the town’s talk, as to something of which Miss Phoebe must be aware. Then Miss Phoebe poured down her questions, although she protested, even with tears, her total disbelief in all the answers she received. It was a small act of heroism on her part to keep all that she then learnt a secret from her sister Dorothy, as she did for four or five days; till Miss Browning attacked her one evening with the following speech:—
‘Phoebe! either you’ve some reason for puffing yourself out with sighs, or you’ve not. If you have a reason, it’s your duty to tell it me directly; and if you haven’t a reason, you must break yourself of a bad habit that is growing upon you.’
‘Oh, sister! do you think it is really my duty to tell you? it would be such a comfort; but then I thought I ought not; it will distress you so.’
‘Nonsense. I am so well prepared for misfortune by the frequent contemplation of its possibility that I believe I can receive any ill news with apparent equanimity and real resignation. Besides, when you said yesterday at breakfast-time that you meant to give up the day to making your drawers tidy, I was aware that some misfortune was impending, though of course I could not judge of its magnitude. Is the Highchester Bank broken?’
‘Oh no, sister!’ said Miss Phoebe, moving to a seat close to her sister’s on the sofa. ‘Have you really been thinking that? I wish I had told you what I heard at the very first, if you’ve been fancying that!’
‘Take warning, Phoebe, and learn to have no concealments from me. I did think we must be ruined, from your ways of going on: eating no meat at dinner, and sighing continually. And now what is it?’
‘I hardly know how to tell you, Dorothy. I really don’t.’
Miss Phoebe began to cry; Miss Browning took hold of her arm, and gave her a little sharp shake.
‘Cry as much as you like when you’ve told me; but don’t cry now, child, when you’re keeping me on the tenter-hooks:
‘Molly Gibson has lost her character, sister. That’s it.’
‘Molly Gibson has done no such thing,’ said Miss Browning, indignantly. ‘How dare you repeat such stories about poor Mary’s child. Never let me hear you say such things again.’
‘I can’t help it: Mrs. Dawes told me; and she says it’s all over the town. I told her I did not believe a word of it. And I kept it from you; and I think I should have been really ill if I’d kept it to myself any longer. Oh, sister! what are you going to do?’
For Miss Browning had risen without speaking a word, and was leaving the room in a stately and determined fashion.
‘I’m going to put on my bonnet and things, and then I shall call upon Mrs. Dawes, and confront her with her lies.’
‘Oh, don’t call them lies, sister; it’s such a strong, ugly word. Please call them tallydiddles, for I don’t believe she meant any harm. Besides—besides—if they should turn out to be truth? Really, sister, that’s the weight on my mind; so many things sounded as if they might be true.’
‘What things?’ said Miss Browning, still standing with judicial erectness of position in the middle of the floor.
‘Why—one story was that Molly had given him a letter.’
‘Who’s him? How am I to understand a story told in that silly way?’ Miss Browning sat down on the nearest chair, and made up her mind to be patient if she could.
‘Him is Mr. Preston. And that must be true; because I missed her from my side when I wanted to ask if she thought blue would look green by candle-light, as the young man said it would, and she had run across the street, and Mrs. Goodenough was just going into the shop, just as she said she was.’
Miss Browning’s distress was overcoming her anger; so she only said, ‘Phoebe, I think you’ll drive me mad. Do tell me what you heard from Mrs. Dawes in a sensible and coherent manner, for once in your life.’
‘I’m sure I’m trying with all my might to tell you everything just as it happened.’
‘What did you hear from Mrs. Dawes?’
‘Why, that Molly and Mr. Preston were keeping company just as if she was a maid-servant and he was a gardener: meeting at all sorts of improper times and places, and fainting away in his arms, and out at night together, and writing to each other, and slipping their letters into each other’s hands; and that was what I was talking about, sister, for I next door to saw that done once. I saw her with my own eyes run across the street to Grinstead’s, where he was, for we had just left him there; with a letter in her hand, too, which was not there when she came back all fluttered and blushing. But I never thought anything of it at the time; but now all the town is talking about it, and crying shame, and saying they ought to be married.’ Miss Phoebe sank into sobbing again; but was suddenly roused by a good box on her ear. Miss Browning was standing over her almost trembling with passion.