"Allow me to save you the trouble," said Mr. Haveloc, coming forward, "it is the least I can do in return for your music."
"For my music!" gasped Margaret; while all the blunders she had been committing rushed into her mind, turning her quite sick with shame.
"You may trust me to leave all right," said Mr. Haveloc, beginning to put in the stops, "I am used to an organ."
"Oh! thank you, I will then," said Margaret, and taking up her gloves, she lost no time in making her way down stairs.
The Gages' carriage was drawing up as she took her seat beside her uncle. She could not command her complexion, and it rose amazingly as Miss Gage entered with her brother.
Elizabeth was more dressed than at her own house, and poor Margaret ascribed her calm, graceful appearance to the stiff violet watered silk, and the delicate pearl brooch and bracelets which she wore. Her bouquet was composed of geraniums this time, and Margaret began to undervalue her azalias now.
While Mr. Grey was talking to Miss Gage, Hubert Gage, leaning on the back of Margaret's chair, entered into conversation with an air of so much intimacy, that she could hardly feel shy of him. He enquired about her pets, and she confided to him that she had a beautiful bullfinch which could whistle two tunes, and draw up a bucket of water; and that Mr. Grey had an eagle in the court-yard which had a great many odd ways; and that she had not a lap-dog yet, but that Mr. Grey meant to see about it.
Hubert Gage, with an air of great interest, recommended her to have an Italian greyhound, and then told her that her hands were like snow; but Margaret never could recollect how he managed to introduce that piece of information.
Then Mr. Haveloc came down and planted himself beside Miss Gage's chair until dinner was announced.
Mr. Grey gave his arm to Miss Gage, and Hubert took possession of Margaret, begging her to observe how much more fortunate he was now, than the last time he had the pleasure of seeing her.