“Really and truly, dear; now say something kind to me before I go.”
Ten minutes afterward Margaret walked slowly down the church-yard to join Raby, who was waiting for her at the gate. He heard her footstep, and held out his hand to her.
“I was wondering what had become of you, Margaret. Sir Wilfred has been talking to me for a long time; he asked after you, but of course I made some excuse; I think I know why you hid yourself.”
“That could only be one reason, Raby.”
“Ah, I was right, then. I said to myself, depend upon it, Madge means to stand on her dignity, and read Hugh a lesson, and I hope he will profit by it. I do believe Hugh’s favorite motto is ‘Never do to-day what you can put off until to-morrow.’”
“I think you are a little hard on Hugh; he has promised that he will speak to his father to-day.”
“I am glad of that,” very gravely. “I confess that this procrastination has made me very uneasy; it was not treating you fairly, Margaret, to leave his father all these months in ignorance of the engagement.”
“Yes, but you forget,” interposed his sister, eagerly, “he did write telling Sir Wilfred everything, but the letter never reached him. You are generally so charitable. Raby, and yet you misjudge poor Hugh so readily.”
There was an injured tone in Margaret’s voice that made Raby smile; he knew that she was blind to Hugh’s faults—that she believed in him with all a loving woman’s credulity: and yet as he smiled he sighed.
He knew his sister well, the simplicity and strength of her nature, the unselfishness and purity of her aims—few women had so high a standard—and he reverenced as well as loved her, for every day showed him new beauties in her character. But his knowledge of his sister made him doubt the wisdom of her choice; in his heart he had never really approved of her engagement with Hugh Redmond. Hugh was a capital fellow, he told himself; a pleasant companion, lovable in his way, and not without his special gifts, but he was not worthy of Margaret.