Mr. Singleton then complimented Margaret upon the number of hearts she had won, and said he expected to be besieged the next day by her different suitors.
Margaret said that Mr. Singleton was very flattering, and thought no more of the effect she was said to have produced.
"Well, Harriet," said Mr. Singleton after he had cleared his throat two or three times, "you were rather in a hurry to come away this evening."
"Yes, Sir," returned Harriet, in a short decided tone.
"How was that, eh?" asked her uncle.
"I was bored," returned Harriet as shortly as before.
This was conclusive, and an ominous silence prevailed. Margaret feared that Harriet was mortally offended with her, and began to think that her threat of leaving Singleton Manor the next day might come to be put in practice. She felt constrained—distressed. There was not light enough to see Harriet's face, and she hardly knew how to end her suspense. At last she timidly put her hand into that of her wilful friend. Harriet snatched hold of it, and pressed it suddenly to her lips. Margaret was almost affected to tears by this little incident. She hoped that the storm had blown over, but she was satisfied that, at least, Harriet's displeasure did not extend to her.
As soon as the carriage door was opened, Harriet sprang out without waiting for the steps to be let down, and dashed through the hall into the drawing-room. Mr. Singleton saying something about "a storm brewing," handed Margaret out and followed his niece.
She took up her night-candle, nodded to her uncle and beckoned Margaret to follow her. As soon as she reached her dressing-room, she began in silence to take off her ornaments from her dress and hair. Then she held out her hand at a little distance, and watched it for a few moments with great attention. It trembled.
"Margaret, ma mie," said she, raising her head. "I am going to be ill; will you mind sleeping with me for once?"