“Are they the same?” said Mrs. Osborne, thoroughly perplexed.
“There ain’t two of them that are going to meet me at the station? No? then there’s only one. And mother’s a trump, and I’ll do everything I’m told, and never be without some one to guide me all my life. And to stand up for me—for I am put upon, Meg, though you don’t seem to see it. I am; and made a jest of; and no money in my pocket; never given my proper place. Meg, how much is mamma going to give me for my pocket-money while I’m away?”
“I can’t tell you, Gervase. There will be your travelling money, and probably she will send the rest to—— to be given you when you are in town.”
“I ought to have it now in my own pocket,” said Gervase, with a cloud upon his brow. “Do you think a man can go like a man to London town, and no money? They are mad if they think that. Lend us something, Meg—you’ve got a little, and no need to spend it; with everything given you that heart can wish. Why, you never spend a penny! And I’ll pay it all back when I come to my own.”
“I have nothing,” she said, faltering. To tell what was not strictly true, and to refuse what her cousin asked, were things equally dreadful to Margaret—and it was a relief to her when Lady Piercey’s window was jerked open by a rapid hand, and the old lady’s head appeared suddenly thrust out.
“You’re not talking to him, Meg; you’re letting him talk to you. Don’t let us have more of that. You’re there to give him good advice, and that’s what we expect of you. Don’t you hear?” And the window was snapt with another emphatic jerk.
“Gervase, I am to advise you,” said Margaret, trembling, though the situation was ludicrous enough, and she might have laughed had the case been other than her own. The watchful eye upon her from the window, the totally unadvisable young man by her side, were not, however, ludicrous but dreadful to Margaret. Her sense of humour was obscured by the piteous facts of the case: the young man entirely insensible to any reason, and his mother, who had never lost her primitive faith that if some one only “talked to him,” Gervase would be just as sensible as other men. “But how can I advise you? I am troubled about what you are going to do. I hope you will not do anything to grieve them, Gervase. They are old people——”
“Yes,” said Gervase, with a nod and a look of wisdom; “they are pretty old.”
“They are old people,” said Margaret, “and they have a great many things to put up with: they have illnesses and weakness—and they have anxiety about you.”
“They needn’t trouble their heads about me. I’ve got some one to look after me. She said it wasn’t I,” cried Gervase with a chuckle.