“The letter has disturbed me a little,” she said; “but the writer surely cannot mean that the scheme hangs upon my accepting or rejecting the management of it. I am too young and inexperienced.”
“Of course you are,” John rejoined, hastily. “But oh, my darling, we must not wait longer. Why should we? I am of age. I can please myself. I am not under my mother’s control, and she is wrong to try to thwart me. We should have to be economical, for I am getting poorer every day, and the lack of money tries and troubles me greatly; but you would not mind that. Say you will marry me, and will not let my mother come between us.”
“John, dear, I dare not come between you and your mother. You are all she has. There is no change for the better, is there? I tried to see her to-day.”
“You did?”
“Yes, for I think if she would talk things over with me, she would feel differently; but the servant told me that she was not at home.”
“We will see her together, Margaret, and she shall talk with you.”
“And, perhaps, it will be right for me to let her decide whether or not I shall undertake this work?”
“Nay, my darling, why should she decide? It is for you and me to decide, and we have done it already.”
But though he spoke confidently there was a great doubt at his heart all the time, and Margaret had a curious feeling that she would have to go to that old homestead in Yorkshire—if not willingly, then against her will.
“Talk to my cousin Tom about it,” said John, “and also to Arthur Knight’s friend, Miss Wentworth. It is she who ought to undertake this thing. She is just the person for it.”