The same sad reflection came often to Margaret. Seeing Grace so contented now, she quite forgot her misery at the prospect of such a home before her; and she was forced to see that she had ruined her own life on insufficient grounds. There was so much pain in this, and Grace's wild spirits so jarred upon her, that after a few days had passed away she announced her departure.
It was only then that she found how Grace clung to the idea of going with her.
"Why cannot I go with you? Surely Mr. Drayton cannot be so barbarous as to separate us now."
"I do not know what arrangements he has been able to make, dear. I must go alone, first."
"If you go alone I shall never follow: I know so well what it will be."
"I will do my best; surely you know that I will do my best; you know it is my dearest wish."
"Yes, but you know, my dear old thing, that you have not got my power of managing people. Now look at old Sandford. Swore I should never live here again: anathematized me, I believe, and sent his poor little sister into fits, such was the violence of his language, and, after all this, I return; I walk in. I am no hypocrite, and I say quite quietly that I only came because I had nowhere else to go,—and the lion became a lamb."
"You do not understand Mr. Drayton."
"Is he worse than the old bear here?" and Grace made a comical face of dismay.
Margaret did not smile. She forced herself to speak plainly.