As he spoke, he put the letter into her hands. He entirely forgot that Mr. Haveloc was in the room; and even had he recollected it, he would have taken it for granted, that sitting at such a distance, and engaged in reading so closely, his presence would have been no drawback to the conversation he wished to hold with his niece. Margaret, standing with her back to him, never perceived him at all; and for Mr. Haveloc, he never imagined that Mr. Grey would have done more than give Margaret the letter, and recommend her to read it at her leisure. He could not leave the room, except by passing Margaret; and he thought the sight of him would embarrass her while conversing on such a subject, therefore he remained where he was. And an intense curiosity to learn how she would receive such tidings, held him, breathless and motionless, until she left the room.
Margaret read the letter through attentively, and steadily, the crimson deepening every moment all over her face, and then looking up straight to her uncle as she returned it, she said:
"I am glad you will have to answer this letter, uncle, instead of me, since I have no practice in these matters; and it is unpleasant to be obliged to say—no."
"But, my dear child," said Mr. Grey, quite puzzled at receiving a reply so totally different to what he had expected, "what objection have you in the world to such a fine fellow as Hubert Gage?"
"He does not love me, uncle, that is one objection," said Margaret with a slight smile; "and I am sure I do not love him."
"Why, my child," said Mr. Grey, "what, do you suppose can induce a man to make you an offer, if he is not in love with you?"
"A great many reasons, uncle. I will not suppose that all the married people in the world who are so indifferent, or unhappy, have once loved each other. In my case, I can acquit Mr. Hubert of any interested motives. It is a passing fancy of his."
"But, my dear—time—you do not know how attached you might become to him. You would not like to give pain to the poor young man."
"Uncle," said Margaret, looking steadily into his face. "I must love a person a little, before I would suffer pain myself, rather than occasion it to him. I would do so for you, or Elizabeth, but not for Mr. Hubert Gage, I tell you frankly. If I thought he really loved me, I should be grieved and pained at the necessity of wounding his feelings; but, as it is, I am only ashamed, that he should have singled me out as the object of so trifling, so fleeting a regard."
"But, my dear little girl," persisted Mr. Grey, "what on earth can have put it into your head, that he does not love you?"