“Yes.”
“Whatever else may be in Morris’s mind,” thought Hope, “it is clear that she is surprised at my wanting to see Margaret.—Here she comes.”
He was not sorry that the step paused in the hall,—that there was a delay of some seconds before Margaret appeared. He felt as weak at the moment as on first rising from his bed after his accident; but he rallied his resolution before he met her eye,—now timid and shrinking as he had never seen it before. Margaret was very grave, and as nearly awkward as it was possible for her to be. She shook hands with him, however, and hoped that he was better again.
“I am better, thank you. Will you sit down, and let me speak to you for a few minutes?”
It was impossible to refuse. Margaret sank down, while he shut the door.
“I hear,” said he, “that you are already thinking of returning to Birmingham. Is this true?”
“Yes: we shall go home in a few days.”
“Then, before you leave us, will you allow me to ask your advice—?”
At the word “advice” a glow of pleasure passed over Margaret’s face, and she could not quite suppress a sigh of relief. She now looked up freely and fearlessly. All this was good for Mr Hope: but it went to his heart, and for a moment checked his speech. He soon proceeded, however.
“I want your advice as a friend, and also some information which you alone can give me. What I have to say relates to your sister.”