Margaret stood with averted face.
"Is—is it so inevitable, that same road? Is there no other, my lord?" she said.
"No, I'm afraid not, my lady," he said, smiling, but rather gravely.
"I think there must be, that there might be if you cared to take it," she said, gravely.
"If you cared that I should take it—I mean"—he broke off quickly, for she had looked alarmed at his words and their tone—"I mean that it's very good of you to care what becomes of a useless fellow like me, and——"
"Margaret!" called Mrs. Hale's voice from the open window.
Margaret started.
"Good-night, my lord," she said, hurriedly, and yet with simple dignity.
"Stop," he said, in a low voice; "you have forgotten your rose," and, following her a step or two, he touched her arm. "It is not a very grand one; there was a bowl of beauties in my room: some good soul had pick—" he stopped, for the color rose to Margaret's face. "You put them there!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. "You!"
"I—I did not know——" she said, faltering, and trying to speak proudly.