“What is this you say?” she cried,” and what have you done? More of your scruples, I warrant me. That tender conscience of yours will land us all in the ashes yet. Is it not better to rule than to be ruled? We are ten times worse off now than we have ever been before, and here are you about to strip us of everything.”
“Dear heart,” said Sir Thomas, without being moved in the least, “it would be impossible, I think,
for me to strip you of your possessions; because, when I married you, you brought me no other dowry than your virtues and the qualities of your heart. Of this dowry I hope, indeed, never to see you deprived by any means in the world, much less by myself.”
“At least,” cried Lady More between her sobs and tears, “I was beautiful and young, and certain it is I might have easily found a husband more interested in his own affairs, and who would have profited more by his learning and the favor of the king.”
On hearing her express herself in this manner Margaret was unable to restrain a gesture of indignation; she idolized her father, and could not tolerate the coarse manners and selfish motives of her step-mother. This woman, narrow of mind and filled with vanity, had succeeded, singularly enough, by manœuvring and flattery, in winning the esteem of More at a time when, having had the misfortune to lose his wife, he saw with great sorrow his daughters deprived of the good example and tender care of a mother. It then seemed to him he could not better replace her than by selecting a widow lady of mature age whose beauty, if it had ever existed, was more than faded, and could no longer be (so, at least, he supposed) a subject of pretension or distraction. But, unfortunately, Lady More, he found, was one of those indifferent, selfish beings who only feel what touches themselves, who consider nothing but their own interests, and fear nothing but what may deprive them of the high social position to which they have been fortunate enough to attain. She could not endure, therefore, the thought of being deprived of the honor she was accustomed to receive as the wife
of the lord chancellor. She never for an instant reflected on the possible difficulties experienced by her husband, or the reasons that might have determined him to resign his office. She at once divined, from the knowledge she possessed of his extreme scrupulousness, that his conscience had been the first cause of this step, and the thought only served to irritate her more, because she insisted that such a difficulty ought to have been avoided.
She continued to utter the most piercing cries, refusing to listen to anything More could say. At length, despairing of bringing her to reason, he began to ridicule her on her absurd conduct.
“My daughters,” he said, calling Elizabeth and Cecilia, “see to your mother’s dress; something has probably stung her under her garments, causing her to cry out in this manner.”
When the silly woman found her husband assume this tone of raillery, she immediately became silent; but, full of anger and spite, she seated herself in a corner of the boat and took no notice of anything around her.
Margaret then took her place beside her father; she drew close to him, and, seizing his hand, pressed it to her lips, without being able to utter a word; her heart was full, and her soul alone silently interrogated that of her father.