'Well, I must say I think Mary is prettier than Molly, and quite as old
a name, too,' said Mrs. Hamley.

'I think it was,' said Molly, lowering her voice, and dropping her
eyes, 'because mamma was Mary, and I was called Molly while she lived.'

'Ah, poor thing,' said the squire, not perceiving his wife's signs to
change the subject, 'I remember how sorry every one was when she died;
no one thought she was delicate, she had such a fresh colour, till all
at once she popped off, as one may say.'

'It must have been a terrible blow to your father,' said Mrs. Hamley,
seeing that Molly did not know what to answer.

'Ay, ay. It came so sudden, so soon after they were married.'

'I thought it was nearly four years,' said Molly.

'And four years is soon--is a short time to a couple who look to
spending their lifetime together. Every one thought Gibson would have
married again.'

'Hush,' said Mrs. Hamley, seeing in Molly's eyes and change of colour
how completely this was a new idea to her. But the squire was not so
easily stopped.

'Well--I'd perhaps better not have said it, but it's the truth; they
did. He's not likely to marry now, so one may say it out. Why, your
father is past forty, isn't he?'