She did not see Miss Mackenzie till the Saturday, the last Saturday before the all-important Monday; but on that day she went to her.
"I suppose you know what I'm come about, my dear," she said.
Miss Mackenzie blushed, and muttered something about Miss Baker.
"Yes, my dear; Miss Baker was speaking to me about Mr Maguire. You needn't mind speaking out to me, Miss Mackenzie. I can understand all about it; and if I can be of any assistance, I shall be very happy. No doubt you feel a little shy, but you needn't mind with me."
"I'm sure you're very good."
"I don't know about that, but I hope I'm not very bad. The long and the short of it is, I suppose, that you think you might as well—might as well take Mr Maguire."
Miss Mackenzie felt thoroughly ashamed of herself. She could not explain to Miss Todd all her best motives; and then, those motives which were not the best were made to seem so very weak and mean by the way in which Miss Todd approached them. When she thought of the matter alone, it seemed to her that she was perfectly reasonable in wishing to be married, in order that she might escape the monotony of a lonely life; and she thought that if she could talk to Miss Todd about the subject gently, for a quarter of an hour at a time every day for two or three months, it was possible that she might explain her views with credit to herself; but how could she do this to anyone so very abruptly? She could only confess that she did want to marry the man, as the child confesses her longing for a tart.
"I have thought about it, certainly," she said.
"Quite right," said Miss Todd; "quite right if you like him. Now for me, I'm so fond of my own money and my own independence, that I've never had a fancy that way,—not since I was a girl."
"But you're so different, Miss Todd; you've got such a position of your own."