Too Long; Didn't Read

Molly found Cynthia in the drawing-room, standing in the bow-window, looking out on the garden. She started as Molly came up to her. "Oh, Molly," said she, putting her arms out towards her, "I am always so glad to have you with me!" It was outbursts of affection such as these that always called Molly back, if she had been ever so unconsciously wavering in her allegiance to Cynthia. She had been wishing downstairs that Cynthia would be less reserved, and not have so many secrets; but now it seemed almost like treason to have wanted her to be anything but what she was. Never had any one more than Cynthia the power spoken of by Goldsmith when he wrote— He threw off his friends like a huntsman his pack,For he knew when he liked he could whistle them back. "Do you know, I think you'll be glad to hear what I've got to tell you," said Molly. "I think you would really like to go to London; shouldn't you?" "Yes, but it's of no use liking," said Cynthia. "Don't you begin about it, Molly, for the thing is settled; and I can't tell you why, but I can't go." "It is only the money, dear. And papa has been so kind about it. He wants you to go; he thinks you ought to keep up relationships; and he is going to give you ten pounds." "How kind he is!" said Cynthia. "But I ought not to take it. I wish I had known you years ago; I should have been different to what I am."