‘I gave him one letter,—of which I did not write a word,—which, in fact, I believe to have been merely an envelope, without any writing whatever inside. The giving that letter,—the two interviews I have named,—make all the private intercourse I have had with Mr. Preston. Oh! papa, what have they been saying that has grieved—shocked you so much?’
‘Never mind. As the world goes, what you say you have done, Molly, is ground enough. You must tell me all. I must be able to refute these rumours point by point.’
‘How are they to be refuted; when you say that the truth which I have acknowledged is ground enough for what people are saying?’
‘You say you were not acting for yourself, but for another. If you tell me who the other was,—if you tell me everything out fully, I will do my utmost to screen her—for of course I guess it was Cynthia—while I am exonerating you.’
‘No, papa!’ said Molly, after some little consideration; ‘I have told you all I can tell; all that concerns myself; and I have promised not to say one word more.’
‘Then your character will be impugned. It must be, unless the fullest explanation of these secret meetings is given. I’ve a great mind to force the whole truth out of Preston himself!’
‘Papa! once again I beg you to trust me. If you ask Mr. Preston you will very likely hear the whole truth; but that is just what I have been trying so hard to conceal, for it will only make several people very unhappy if it is known, and the whole affair is over and done with now.’
‘Not your share in it. Miss Browning sent for me this evening to tell me how people were talking about you. She implied that it was a complete loss of your good name. You don’t know, Molly, how slight a thing may blacken a girl’s reputation for life. I’d hard work to stand all she said, even though I didn’t believe a word of it at the time. And now you’ve told me that much of it is true.’
‘But I think you are a brave man, papa. And you believe me, don’t you? We shall outlive those rumours, never fear.’
‘You don’t know the power of ill-natured tongues, child,’ said he.
‘Oh, now you’ve called me “child” again I don’t care for anything. Dear, dear papa, I’m sure it is best and wisest to take no notice of these speeches. After all, they may not mean them ill-naturedly. I am sure Miss Browning would not. By and by they’ll quite forget how much they made out of so little,—and even if they don’t, you would not have me break my solemn word, would you?’
‘Perhaps not. But I cannot easily forgive the person who, by practising on your generosity, led you into this scrape. You are very young, and look upon these things as merely temporary evils. I have more experience.’
‘Still I don’t see what I can do now, papa. Perhaps I’ve been foolish; but what I did, I did of my own self. It was not suggested to me. And I’m sure it was not wrong in morals, whatever it might be in judgment. As I said, it’s all over now; what I did ended the affair, I am thankful to say; and it was with that object I did it. If people choose to talk about me, I must submit; and so must you, dear papa.’
‘Does your mother—does Mrs. Gibson—know anything about it?’ asked he, with sudden anxiety.
‘No; not a bit; not a word. Pray don’t name it to her. That might lead to more mischief than anything else. I have really told you everything I am at liberty to tell.’
It was a great relief to Mr. Gibson to find that this sudden fear that his wife might have been privy to it all was ill-founded. He had been seized by a sudden dread that she, whom he had chosen to marry in order to have a protectress and guide for his daughter, had been cognizant of this ill-advised adventure with Mr. Preston; nay, more, that she might even have instigated it to save her own child; for that Cynthia was, somehow or other, at the bottom of it all he had no doubt whatever. But now, at any rate, Mrs. Gibson had not been playing a treacherous part; that was all the comfort he could extract out of Molly’s mysterious admission, that much mischief might result from Mrs. Gibson’s knowing anything about these meetings with Mr. Preston.
‘Then, what is to be done?’ said he. ‘These reports are abroad,—am I to do nothing to contradict them? Am I to go about smiling and content with all this talk about you, passing from one idle gossip to another?’
‘I’m afraid so. I’m very sorry, for I never meant you to have known anything about it, and I can see now how it must distress you. But surely when nothing more happens, and nothing comes of what has happened, the wonder and the gossip must die away. I know you believe every word I have said, and that you trust me, papa? Please, for my sake, be patient with all this gossip and cackle.’
‘It will try me hard, Molly,’ said he.
‘For my sake, papa!’
‘I don’t see what else I can do,’ replied he, moodily, ‘unless I get hold of Preston.’
‘That would be the worst of all. That would make a talk. And, after all, perhaps he was not so much to blame. Yes! he was. But he behaved well to me as far as that goes,’ said she, suddenly recollecting his speech when Mr. Sheepshanks came up in the Towers’ Park—‘Don’t stir, you have done nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘That’s true. A quarrel between men which drags a woman’s name into notice is to be avoided at any cost. But sooner or later I must have it out with Preston. He shall find it not so pleasant to have placed my daughter in equivocal circumstances.’
‘He didn’t place me. He didn’t know I was coming, didn’t expect to meet me either time; and would far rather not have taken the letter I gave him, if he could have helped himself.’
‘It’s all a mystery. I hate to have you mixed up in mysteries.’
‘I hate to be mixed up. But what can I do? I know of another mystery which I’m pledged not to speak about. I cannot help myself.’
‘Well, all I can say is, never be the heroine of a mystery that you can avoid, if you can’t help being an accessory. Then, I suppose, I must yield to your wishes and let this scandal wear itself out without any notice from me?’
‘What else can you do under the circumstances?’
‘Aye; what else, indeed? How shall you bear it?’
For an instant the quick hot tears sprang into her eyes; to have everybody—all her world, thinking evil of her, did seem hard to the girl who had never thought or said an unkind thing of them. But she smiled as she made answer—
‘It’s like tooth-drawing, it will be over some time. It would be much worse if I really had been doing wrong.’
‘Cynthia shall beware’—he began; but Molly put her hand before his mouth.
‘Papa, Cynthia must not be accused, or suspected; you will drive her out of your house if you do, she is so proud, and so unprotected, except by you. And Roger,—for Roger’s sake, you will never do or say anything to send Cynthia away, when he has trusted us all to take care of her, and love her in his absence. Oh! I think if she were really wicked, and I did not love her at all, I should feel bound to watch over her, he loves her so dearly. And she is really good at heart, and I do love her dearly. You must not vex or hurt Cynthia, papa,—re—member she is dependent upon you!’
‘I think the world would get on tolerably well, if there were no women in it. They plague the life out of one. You’ve made me forget, amongst you—poor old Job Houghton that I ought to have gone to see an hour ago.’
Molly put up her mouth to be kissed. ‘You’re not angry with me now, papa, are you?’
‘Get out of my way’ (kissing her all the same). ‘If I’m not angry with you, I ought to be; for you’ve caused a great deal of worry, which won’t be over yet awhile, I can tell you.’
For all Molly’s bravery at the time of this conversation, it was she that suffered more than her father. He kept out of the way of hearing gossip; but she was perpetually thrown into the small society of the place. Mrs. Gibson herself had caught cold, and moreover was not tempted by the quiet old-fashioned visiting which was going on just about this time, provoked by the visit of two of Mrs. Dawes’ pretty unrefined nieces, who laughed, and chattered, and ate, and would fain have flirted with Mr. Ashton, the vicar, could he have been brought by any possibility to understand his share in the business. Mr. Preston did not accept the invitations to Hollingford tea-drinkings with the same eager gratitude as he had done a year before: or else the shadow which hung over Molly would not have extended to him, her co-partner in the clandestine meetings which gave such umbrage to the feminine virtue of the town. Molly herself was invited, because it would not do to pass any apparent slight on either Mr. or Mrs. Gibson; but there was a tacit and underhand protest against her being received on the old terms. Every one was civil to her, but no one was cordial; there was a very perceptible film of difference in their behaviour to her from what it was formerly; nothing that had outlines and could be defined. But Molly, for all her clear conscience and her brave heart, felt acutely that she was only tolerated, not welcomed. She caught the buzzing whispers of the two Miss Oakeses, who, when they first met the heroine of the prevailing scandal, looked at her askance, and criticized her pretensions to good looks, with hardly an attempt at undertones. Molly tried to be thankful that her father was not in the mood for visiting. She was even glad that her stepmother was too much of an invalid to come out, when she felt thus slighted, and, as it were, degraded from her place. Miss Browning herself, that true old friend, spoke to her with chilling dignity, and much reserve; for she had never heard a word from Mr. Gibson since the evening when she had put herself to so much pain to tell him of the disagreeable rumours affecting his daughter.