Mrs Buggins' respect for Miss Mackenzie had returned altogether since she had heard of the invitation to Cavendish Square, and she apologised, almost without ceasing, for the liberty she had taken in suggesting that Margaret should drink tea with her husband.
"And indeed, Miss, I shouldn't have proposed such a thing, were it ever so, if I had suspected for a hinstant how things were a going to be. For Buggins is a man as knows his place, and never puts himself beyond it! But you was that close, Miss—"
In answer to this Margaret would say that it didn't signify, and that it wasn't on that account; and I have no doubt but that the two women thoroughly understood each other.
There was a subject on which, in spite of all her respect, Mrs Buggins ventured to give Miss Mackenzie much advice, and to insist on that advice strongly. Mrs Buggins was very anxious that the future "baronet's lady" should go out upon her grand visit with a proper assortment of clothing. That argument of the baronet's lady was the climax of Mrs Buggins' eloquence: "You, my dear, as is going to be one baronet's lady is going to a lady who is going to be another baronet's lady, and it's only becoming you should go as is becoming."
Margaret declared that she was not going to be anybody's lady, but Mrs Buggins altogether pooh-poohed this assertion.
"That, Miss, is your predestination," said Mrs Buggins, "and well you'll become it. And as for money, doesn't that old party who found it all out say reg'lar once a month that there's whatever you want to take for your own necessaries? and you that haven't had a shilling from him yet! If it was me, I'd send him in such a bill for necessaries as 'ud open that old party's eyes a bit, and hurry him up with his lawsuits."
The matter was at last compromised between her and Margaret, and a very moderate expenditure for smarter clothing was incurred.
On the day appointed Mrs Mackenzie again came, and Margaret was carried off to Cavendish Square. Here she found herself suddenly brought into a mode of life altogether different from anything she had as yet experienced. The Mackenzies were people who went much into society, and received company frequently at their own house. The first of these evils for a time Margaret succeeded in escaping, but from the latter she had no means of withdrawing herself. There was very much to astonish her at this period of her life, but that which astonished her perhaps more than anything else was her own celebrity. Everybody had heard of the Lion and the Lamb, and everybody was aware that she was supposed to represent the milder of those two favourite animals. Everybody knew the story of her property, or rather of the property which had never in truth been hers, and which was now being made to pass out of her hands by means of a lawsuit, of which everybody spoke as though it were the best thing in the world for all the parties concerned. People, when they mentioned Sir John Ball to her—and he was often so mentioned—never spoke of him in harsh terms, as though he were her enemy. She observed that he was always named before her in that euphuistic language which we naturally use when we speak to persons of those who are nearest to them and dearest to them. The romance of the thing, and not the pity of it, was the general subject of discourse, so that she could not fail to perceive that she was generally regarded as the future wife of Sir John Ball.
It was the sudden way in which all this had come upon her that affected her so greatly. While staying in Arundel Street she had been altogether ignorant that the story of the Lion and the Lamb had become public, or that her name had been frequent in men's mouths. When Mrs Buggins had once told her that she was thus becoming famous, she had ridiculed Mrs Buggins' statement. Mrs Buggins had brought home word from some tea-party that the story had been discussed among her own friends; but Miss Mackenzie had regarded that as an accident. A lawyer's clerk or two about Chancery Lane or Carey Street might by chance hear of the matter in the course of their daily work;—that it should be so, and that such people talked of her affairs distressed her; but that had, she was sure, been all. Now, however, in her new home she had learned that Mr Maguire's efforts had become notorious, and that she and her history were public property. When all this first became plain to her, it overwhelmed her so greatly that she was afraid to show her face; but this feeling gradually wore itself away, and she found herself able to look around upon the world again, and ask herself new questions of the future, as she had done when she had first found herself to be the possessor of her fortune.
When she had been about three weeks with the Mackenzies, Sir John Ball came to see her. He had written to her once before that, but his letter had referred simply to some matter of business. When he was shown into the drawing-room in Cavendish Square, Mrs Mackenzie and Margaret were both there, but the former in a few minutes got up and left the room. Margaret had wished with all her heart that her hostess would remain with them. She was sure that Sir John Ball had nothing to say that she would care to hear, and his saying nothing would seem to be of no special moment while three persons were in the room. But his saying nothing when special opportunity for speaking had been given to him would be of moment to her. Her destiny was in his hands to such a degree that she felt his power over her to amount almost to a cruelty. She longed to ask him what her fate was to be, but it was a question that she could not put to him. She knew that he would not tell her now; and she knew also that the very fact of his not telling her would inflict upon her a new misery, and deprive her of the comfort which she was beginning to enjoy. If he could not tell her at once how all this was to be ended, it would be infinitely better for her that he should remain away from her altogether.