It was a very eventful day for Margaret on which Miss Gage and her brother were to dine at Ashdale, for it might actually be termed a party, and she was to preside at the head of the table.
She took infinite pains with her toilet; chose her very prettiest silk, and allowed her maid as much time as she liked to dress her hair: instead of starting up, as she did on common occasions, after the first half-minute, wringing into a perfect cable the beautiful profusion of her tresses behind, and fastening them up with a comb to the great discomposure of her attendant. All the time the airy plaits were weaving, which were to form the pretty coiffure, designated as the antique moderne, Margaret was convincing herself that she was not taking all this trouble because Hubert Gage was coming. Nothing could be so unlikely, or so undignified; it was entirely on account of his sister Elizabeth.
She was dressed so early, that she had plenty of time to spare. She thought she should like to play on the organ; but Land was busy, so was the footman, she dared not ask the coachman to blow: Mason would, she knew, be shocked at the idea; so she sent down to the gardener's boy, who spent the best part of his time in the kitchen, and he came up, shy and awkward enough, but very willing to do his best. Unfortunately, he occasionally left off blowing to listen with open mouth to her performance, thus causing a sudden stop that was very provoking to her. She was improving so nicely too—her little foot stole over the pedals with as much ease as her fingers over the notes; and when she was in the midst of a very pretty effect, that sharp cessation of sound quite destroyed her patience.
"There, you naughty little boy," said she, "don't you see the wind is out? You must not do that again!"
The little boy, who was a great deal bigger by the way than herself, did do it again, and always in the most provoking places, though the moment she looked he began to blow with renewed vigour.
"I declare," cried Margaret, stamping her foot on the pedals, and producing thereby an awful roar, "I will tell my Uncle Grey the very next time!"
This was not a very formidable threat; but the boy pleaded that she did play so beautiful he could not help it; and she forgot her anger.
Now, at the moment she stamped, one of the gallery doors opened, and Mr. Haveloc came out, intending to go down to the drawing-room; but attracted by the singular sound that met his ear, he remained in the doorway listening. He was very much amused by the short dialogue which he overheard, and delighted when Margaret resumed her more regular performance; for she had that fine sensibility for music which imparts to the finger a charm that cannot be acquired, but which is an absolute requisite to persons of the same temperament.
"There goes seven, Miss," said the boy, as Margaret was bringing to a conclusion one of Handel's choruses.
"How tiresome!" cried Margaret, "Oh, dear! and I promised Mr. Grey that I would always shut up the organ. I shall be late, that I shall! Oh! do hold the candle for me!"