And then there was a pause. Dr. Murray was unbending, less afraid of how people looked at him.
“My cousin Mr. Earnshaw has not yet come back?” he said.
“He is occupied with some business in town. I am only waiting, as I told your sister, till he comes. As soon as he does so, I hope we may see more of you here; but in the meantime, Mrs. Smith must come to me. I hope I shall see a great deal of her; and you must spare her for my lectures, Dr. Murray. You must not let her give herself up too much to her housekeeping, and all her thrifty occupations.”
“Margaret has no occasion to be overthrifty,” he said, looking at her. “I have always begged her to go into society. We have not come to that, that my sister should be a slave to her housekeeping. Margaret, remember, I hope you will not neglect what her Ladyship says.”
“After the flitting,” said Margaret, softly.
“Ah, yes; after our removal. We shall then have a room more fit to receive you in,” he said. “I hear on all hands that it is a very good house.”
At this moment some one came in to announce the carriage, which Lady Mary had ordered to take her visitor home; and here there arose another conflict in Dr. Murray’s mind. Which was best, most like what a man of the world would do? to drive down with his sister or to walk? He was tired, and the drive would certainly be the easier; but what if they should think it odd? The doctor was saved from this dilemma by Harry, who came unwittingly to the rescue, and proposed to walk down the avenue with him. Harry had not fallen in love with him as with his sister; but still he was at that stage when a man is anxious to conciliate everybody belonging to the woman whom he loves. And then little Sibby was brought down from the nursery, clasping closely a doll which had been presented to her by the children in a body, with eyes blazing like two stars, and red roses of excitement upon her little cheeks. Never in all her life before had Sibby spent so happy a day. And when she and her mother had been placed in the warm delicious carriage, is it wonderful that various dreams floated into Margaret’s mind as she leant back in her corner, and was whirled past those long lines of trees. Harry had been ready to give her his arm downstairs, to put her into the carriage. He had whispered, with a thrill in his voice:
“May I bring those books to-morrow?”
He had all but brushed her dress with his face, bowing over her in his solicitude. Ah, how comfortable it would be, how delightful to have a house like that, a carriage like this, admiring, soft-mannered people about her all day long, and nothing to do but what she pleased to do! Had she begun to cherish a wish that Harry’s fancy might not be a temporary one, that he might persevere in it, and overcome opposition? It would be hard to expect from Margaret such perfection of goodness as never to allow such a train of thought to enter her mind; but at the same time her practical virtue stood all assaults. She would never encourage him; this she vowed over again, though with a sensation almost of hope, and a wish unexpressed in her heart.
For ah! what a difference there is between being poor and being rich—between Lady Mary in the great house, and Margaret Murray, or Smith, in Mrs. Sims’ lodging!—and if you went to the root of the matter, the one woman was as good as the other, as well adapted to “ornament her station,” as old-fashioned people used to say. I think, on the whole, it was greatly to Margaret’s credit, seeing that so much was at stake, that she never wavered in her determination to give Harry no encouragement. But she meant to put no barrier definitively in his way, no obstacle insuperable. She was willing enough to be the reward of his exertions, should he be successful in the lists; and Lady Mary’s kindness, nay, affectionateness towards her seemed to point to a successful issue of the struggle, if Harry went into it with perseverance and vigour. She could not help being a little excited by the thought.