“I do not know. Everybody deserts me, I think.”
“I will not. It is little I can do; but stay by me: do not leave me. I will watch for you.”
Margaret fell into the common error of the wretched, when she said these last words. Her brother was at work on her behalf. Hope had gone towards the ruins with the rest of the party, to keep his eye on Enderby. Sophia hung on his arm, which she had taken that she might relieve herself of some thoughts which she could not so well speak to any one of the strangers of the party.
“Oh, Mr Hope!” cried she, “how very much mistaken we have been in Mr Walcot all this time! He is a most delightful young man—so refined! and so domestic!”
“Indeed! You will trust Sydney’s judgment more readily another time.”
“Yes, indeed. But I could not help telling you. I know you will not be offended; though some people, perhaps, would not venture to speak so to you; but I know you will excuse it, and not be offended.”
“So far from being offended, I like what you now say far better than the way I have heard you sometimes speak of Mr Walcot. I have thought before that you did not allow him fair play. Now, in my turn, I must ask you not to be offended with me.”
“Oh, I never could be offended with you; you are always so good and amiable. Mamma seemed a little vexed when you encouraged Sydney to praise Mr Walcot: but she will be delighted at your opinion of him, when she finds how accomplished he is—and so refined!”
“You speak of my opinion. I have no opinion about Mr Walcot yet, because I do not know him. You must remember that, though all Deerbrook has been busy about him since May, I have scarcely heard him say five words. I do not speak as having any opinion of him, one way or another. How dark this place looks to-day!—that aisle—how gloomy!”
“I think it is the weather. There is no sun; and the ivy tosses about strangely. What do you think of the weather?”