After that there was silence in the room for a minute or two, during which Margaret waited for her aunt to begin; but Lady Ball sat there solid, grave, and black, as though she thought that her very presence, without any words, might be effective upon Margaret as a preliminary mode of attack. Margaret herself could find nothing to say to her aunt, and she, therefore, also remained silent. Lady Ball was so far successful in this, that when three minutes were over her niece had certainly been weakened by the oppressive nature of the meeting. She had about her less of vivacity, and perhaps also less of vitality, than when she first entered the room.
"Well, my dear," said her aunt at last, "there are things, you know, which must be talked about, though they are ever so disagreeable;" and then she pulled out of her pocket that abominable number of the Littlebath Christian Examiner.
"Oh, aunt, I hope you are not going to talk about that."
"My dear, that is cowardly; it is, indeed. How am I to help talking about it? I have come here, from Twickenham, on purpose to talk about it."
"Then, aunt, I must decline; I must, indeed."
"My dear!"
"I must, indeed, aunt."
Let a man or a woman's vitality be ever so thoroughly crushed and quenched by fatigue or oppression—or even by black crape—there will always be some mode of galvanising which will restore it for a time, some specific either of joy or torture which will produce a return of temporary energy. This Littlebath newspaper was a battery of sufficient power to put Margaret on her legs again, though she perhaps might not be long able to keep them.
"It is a vile, lying paper, and it was written by a vile, lying man, and I hope you will put it up and say nothing about it."
"It is a vile, lying paper, Margaret; but the lies are against my son, and not against you."