Mrs. Carteret's busy small brain began to entertain an idea that Margaret's stay might be made profitable, in a social point of view, to her future position.
The writing of the note of which Mr. Baldwin was the bearer had been the subject of some doubt and discussion between Lady Davyntry and her brother.
"Do you think it would do to ask her here, to dinner and all that, without asking Mrs. Carteret, and making a regular business of it?" said Eleanor.
"Of course it would," returned Mr. Baldwin. "If you want to have Mrs. Hungerford here, and do not want to have Mrs. Carteret, as I understand you that you do, you could not have a better opportunity. Now is your time. You have a cold, you can't go out, and you certainly cannot see company. Write your note, Nelly, and I'll take it. I want to see Mr. Carteret. You cannot have a better opportunity."
"Let me see," said Lady Davyntry, biting the top of her pen contemplatively; "Mr. Dugdale is down at Oxford, isn't he?"
"Yes," said her brother; "gone to see his old tutor,--a fellow he is, but I forget his name,--and won't be back for three weeks."
"Well, then, I will ask Margaret alone. I thought, if Mr. Dugdale had been at home, we might have asked him to come to dinner. But you won't mind seeing Mrs. Hungerford home, Fitz, will you? She could have the carriage, of course, and go round by the road; but I am sure she would not like that."
Mr. Baldwin was exceedingly complaisant and agreeable. So far from growling an assent in an undertone, sounding much more like a protest than an acquiescence, as is the usual manner of men with regard to the bosom friends of their sisters, he expressed his readiness to undertake the task of seeing Margaret home with a cheerful readiness quite beyond suspicion of its sincerity.
When Margaret had read the note, she twisted it in her fingers without speaking. Mr. Baldwin's attention wandered a little, though Mr. Carteret had opened one of the glass cases, and taken out a horrid object like an old-fashioned brooch with an areole of long spikes, and was expatiating upon it with great fervour.
He looked at Margaret; but her eyes were turned from him, straying over the garden. At last he moved to where she was sitting.