"I don't know what you mean by grief; but if you were situated as I am you would perceive that you were in a false position."
"I am sure he has been saying something unkind to you."
Margaret hardly knew how to tell her thoughts and feelings, and yet she wished to tell them. She had resolved that she would tell the whole to Mrs Mackenzie, having convinced herself that she could not carry out her plan of leaving Cavendish Square without some explanation of the kind. She did not know how to make her speech with propriety, so she jumped at the difficulty boldly. "The truth is, Mrs Mackenzie, that he has no more idea of marrying me than he has of marrying you."
"Margaret, how can you talk such nonsense?"
"It is not nonsense; it is true; and it will be much better that it should all be understood at once. I have nothing to blame him for, nothing; and I don't blame him; but I cannot bear this kind of life any longer. It is killing me. What business have I to be living here in this way, when I have got nothing of my own, and have no one to depend on but myself?"
"Then he must have said something to you; but, whatever it was, you cannot but have misunderstood him."
"No; he has said nothing, and I have not misunderstood him." Then there was a pause. "He has said nothing to me, and I am bound to understand what that means."
"Margaret, I want to put one question to you," said Mrs Mackenzie, speaking with a serious air that was very unusual with her,—"and you will understand, dear, that I only do so because of what you are saying now."
"You may put any question you please to me," said Margaret.
"Has your cousin ever asked you to be his wife, or has he not?"