said Miss Browning, drawing herself up in gratified dignity.'Oh, yes, we quite understand, Mr Roger; and we fully recognize Mrs Hamley's kind intention.We will take the will for the deed, as the common people express it.I believe that there was an intermarriage between the Brownings and the Hamleys, a generation or two ago.' 'I daresay there was,' said Roger.'My mother is very delicate, and obliged to humour her health, which has made her keep aloof from society.' 'Then I may go?' said Molly, sparkling with the idea of seeing her dear Mrs Hamley again, yet afraid of appearing too desirous of leaving her kind old friends.'To be sure, my dear.Write a pretty note, and tell Mrs Hamley how much obliged to her we are for thinking of us.' 'I'm afraid I can't wait for a note,' said Roger.'I must take a message instead, for I have to meet my father at one o'clock, and it's close upon it now.' When he was gone, Molly felt so light-hearted at the thoughts of Thursday that she could hardly attend to what the Miss Brownings were saying.One was talking about the pretty muslin gown which Molly had sent to the wash only that morning, and contriving how it could be had back again in time for Molly to wear; and the other, Miss Phoebe, totally inattentive to her sister's speaking for a wonder, was piping out a separate strain of her own, and singing Roger Hamley's praises.'Such a fine-looking young man, and so courteous and affable.Like the young men of our youth now, is he not, sister? And yet they all say Mr Osborne is the handsomest.What do you think, child?' 'I've never seen Mr Osborne,' said Molly, blushing, and hating herself for doing so.Why was it? She had never seen him as she said.It was only that her fancy had dwelt on him so much.He was gone; all the gentlemen were gone before the carriage, which came to fetch Molly on Thursday, reached Hamley Hall.But Molly was almost glad, she was so much afraid of being disappointed.Besides, she had her dear Mrs Hamley the more to herself; the quiet sit in the morning-room, talking poetry and romance; the mid-day saunter into the garden, brilliant with autumnal flowers and glittering dew-drops on the gossamer webs that stretched from scarlet to blue, and thence to purple and yellow petals.As they were sitting at lunch, a strange man's voice and step were heard in the hall;the door was opened, and a young man came in, who could be no other than Osborne.He was beautiful and languid-looking, almost as frail in appearance as his mother, whom he strongly resembled.This seeming delicacy made him appear older than he was.He was dressed to perfection, and yet with easy carelessness.He came up to his mother, and stood by her, holding her hand, while his eyes sought Molly, not boldly or impertinently, but as if appraising her critically.'Yes! I'm back again.Bullocks, I find, are not in my line.I only disappointed my father in not being able to appreciate their merits, and, I'm afraid, I didn't care to learn.And the smell was insufferable on such a hot day.' 'My dear boy, don't make apologies to me; keep them for your father.I'm only too glad to have you back.Miss Gibson, this tall fellow is my son Osborne, as I daresay you have guessed.Osborne - Miss Gibson.Now, what will you have?' He looked round the table as he sate down.'Nothing here,' said he.'Is there not some cold game-pie? I'll ring for that.' Molly was trying to reconcile the ideal with the real.The ideal was agile, yet powerful, with Greek features and an eagle-eye, capable of enduring long fasting, and indifferent as to what he ate.The real was almost effeminate in movement, though not in figure; he had the Greek features, but his blue eyes had a cold, weary expression in them.He was dainty in eating, and had anything but a Homeric appetite.However, Molly's hero was not to eat more than Ivanhoe, when he was Friar Tuck's guest;' and, after all, with a little alteration, she began to think Mr Osborne Hamley might turn out a poetical, if not a chivalrous hero.He was extremely attentive to his mother, which pleased Molly, and, in return, Mrs Hamley seemed charmed with him to such a degree that Molly once or twice fancied that mother and son would have been happier in her absence.Yet, again, it struck on the shrewd, if ****** girl, that Osborne was mentally squinting at her in the conversation which was directed to his mother.There were little turns and ' fioriture ' of speech which Molly could not help feeling were graceful antics of language not common in the ****** daily intercourse between mother and son.But it was flattering rather than otherwise to perceive that a very fine young man, who was a poet to boot, should think it worth while to talk on the tight rope for her benefit.And before the afternoon was ended, without there having been any direct conversation between Osborne and Molly, she had reinstated him on his throne in her imagination; indeed, she had almost felt herself disloyal to her dear Mrs Hamley when, in the first hour after her introduction, she had questioned his claims on his mother's idolatry.His beauty came out more and more, as he became animated in some discussion with her; and all his attitudes, if a little studied, were graceful in the extreme.Before Molly left, the squire and Roger returned from Canonbury.'Osborne here!' said the squire, red and panting.'Why the deuce couldn't you tell us you were coming home? I looked about for you everywhere, just as we were going into the ordinary.I wanted to introduce you to Grantley, and Fox, and Lord Forrest-men from the other side of the county, whom you ought to know; and Roger there missed above half his dinner hunting about for you; and all the time you'd stole away, and were quietly sitting here with the women.I wish you'd let me know the next time you make off.I've lost half my pleasure in looking at as fine a lot of cattle as I ever saw, with thinking you might be having one of your old attacks of faintness.' 'I should have had one, I think, if I'd stayed longer in that atmosphere.
