And it must be remembered that from day to day his own mother, who lived with him, who sat with him late every night talking on this one subject, was always instigating him to abandon his cousin. It had been admitted between them that he was no longer bound by his offer. Margaret herself had admitted it,—"does not attempt to deny it," as Lady Ball repeated over and over again. When he had made his offer he had known nothing of Mr Maguire's offer, nor had Margaret then told him of it. Such reticence on her part of course released him from his bond. So Lady Ball argued, and against this argument her son made no demur. Indeed it was hardly possible that he should comprehend exactly what had taken place between his cousin and Mr Maguire. His mother did not scruple to assure him that she must undoubtedly at one time have accepted the man's proposal. In answer to this John Ball would always assert his entire reliance on his cousin's word.
"She did it without knowing that she did so," Lady Ball would answer; "but in some language she must have assented."
But the mother was never able to extract from the son any intimation of his intention to give up the marriage, though she used threats and tears, ridicule and argument,—appeals to his pride and appeals to his pocket. He never said that he certainly would marry her; he never said so at least after that night on which Margaret in her bedroom had told him her story with reference to Mr Maguire; but neither did he ever say that he certainly would not marry her. Lady Ball gathered from all his words a conviction that he would be glad to be released, if he could be released by any act on Margaret's behalf, and therefore she had made her attempt on Margaret. With what success the reader will, I hope, remember. Margaret, when she accepted her cousin's offer, had been specially bidden by him to be firm. This bidding she obeyed, and on that side there was no hope at all for Lady Ball.
I fear there was much of cowardice on Sir John's part. He had, in truth, forgiven Margaret any offence that she had committed in reference to Mr Maguire. She had accepted his offer while another offer was still dragging on an existence after a sort, and she had not herself been the first to tell him of these circumstances. There had been offence to him in this, but that offence he had, in truth, forgiven. Had there been no Littlebath Christian Examiner, no tale of the Lion and the Lamb, no publicity and no ridicule, he would quietly have walked off with his cousin to some church, having gone through all preliminary ceremonies in the most silent manner possible for them, and would have quietly got himself married and have carried Margaret home with him. Now that his father was dead and that his uncle Jonathan's money had come to him, his pecuniary cares were comparatively light, and he believed that he could be very happy with Margaret and his children. But then to be pointed at daily as a lion, and to be asked by all his acquaintances after the lamb! It must be owned that he was a coward; but are not most men cowards in such matters as that?
But now the trial was over, the money was his own, Margaret was left without a shilling in the world, and it was quite necessary that he should make up his mind. He had once told his lawyer, in his premature joy, on that very day on which Mr Maguire had come to the Cedars, that everything was to be made smooth by a marriage between himself and the disinherited heiress. He had since told the lawyer that something had occurred which might, perhaps, alter this arrangement. After that the lawyer had asked no question about the marriage; but when he communicated to his client the final intelligence that Jonathan Ball's money was at his client's disposal, he said that it would be well to arrange what should be done on Miss Mackenzie's behalf. Sir John Ball had assumed very plainly a look of vexation when the question was put to him.
"I promised Mr Slow that I would ask you," said the lawyer. "Mr Slow is of course anxious for his client."
"It is my business and not Mr Slow's," said Sir John Ball, "and you may tell him that I say so."
Then there had been a moment's silence, and Sir John had felt himself to be wrong.
"Pray tell him also," said Sir John, "that I am very grateful to him for his solicitude about my cousin, and that I fully appreciate his admirable conduct both to her and me throughout all this affair. When I have made up my mind what shall be done, I will let him know at once."
As he walked down from his lawyer's chambers in Bedford Row to the railway station he thought of all this, and thought also of those words which Mrs Mackenzie had spoken to him in the bazaar. "You have no right to scold him yet," she had said to Margaret. Of course he had understood what they meant, and of course Margaret had understood them also. And he had not been at all angry when they were spoken. Margaret had been so prettily dressed, and had looked so fresh and nice, that at that moment he had forgotten all his annoyances in his admiration, and had listened to Mrs Mackenzie's cunning speech, not without confusion, but without any immediate desire to contradict its necessary inference. A moment or two afterwards the harpies had been upon him, and then he had gone off in his anger. Poor Margaret had been unable to distinguish between the effects produced by the speech and by the harpies; but Mrs Mackenzie had been more clever, and had consequently predicted her cousin's speedy promotion in the world's rank.