It was on her tongue to speak some word about the hospital; but she felt that if she did so now, it would be tantamount to asking him that question which it did not become her to ask; so she repressed the word, and sat in silence.
"When the day is positively fixed for the hearing," said he, "I will be sure to let you know."
"I wish you would let me know nothing further about it, John, till it is all settled."
"I sometimes almost fancy that I wish the same thing," said he, with a faint attempt at a smile; and after that he got up and went his way.
This was not to be endured. Margaret declared to herself that she could not live and bear it. Let the people around her say what they would, it could not be that he would treat her in this way if he intended to make her his wife. It would be better for her to make up her mind that it was not to be so, and to insist on leaving the Mackenzies' house. She would go, not again to Arundel Street, but to some lodging further away, in some furthest recess of London, where no one would come to her and flurry her with false hopes, and there remain till she might be allowed to earn her bread. That was the mood in which Mrs Mackenzie found her late in the afternoon on the day of Sir John Ball's visit. There was to be a dinner party in the house that evening, and Margaret began by asking leave to absent herself.
"Nonsense, Margaret," said Mrs Mackenzie; "I won't have anything of the kind."
"I cannot come down, Mrs Mackenzie; I cannot, indeed."
"That is absolute nonsense. That man has been saying something unkind to you. Why do you mind what he says?"
"He has not said anything unkind; he has not said anything at all."
"Oh, that's the grief, is it?"