Fair Margaret
Page 5The Emperor Tiberius is reported to have said that if a man does not
know what is good for him when he is forty years old, he must be either
a fool or a physician. Similarly, a woman who does not know her own
good points at twenty is either very foolish, or a raving beauty--or a
saint. Perhaps women can be all three; it is not safe to assert
anything positively about them. Margaret Donne was clever, she was a
good girl but not a saint, and she was a little more than fairly
good-looking. That was all, and she knew her good points. If she was
not perpetually showing them to advantage, she at least realised what
they were and that she might some day have to make the most of them.
They were her complexion, her mouth and her figure; and she was clever,
if cleverness be a 'point' in a human being, which is doubtful. It is
not considered one in a puppy.
'Lushington.' When they were older than he, he felt that they were
patronising him; if they were younger, he thought them distinctly
cheeky. Occasionally he fell in with a relation, or an old
schoolfellow, who addressed him as 'Ned,' or even as 'Eddie,' This made
him utterly miserable; in the language of Johnson, when Mr. Lushington
was called 'Eddie,' he was convolved with agony--especially if a third
person chanced to be present. Margaret sometimes wondered whether she
should ever be in a position to use that weapon.
There was a possibility of it, depending on her own choice. In fact,
there were two possibilities, for she could marry him if she pleased,
or she could make an intimate friend of him, and they might then call
each other by their Christian names. At the present time she knew him
'Miss Margaret' when he was pleased, and 'Miss Donne' when he was not.
'It is a pity you think me clever,' she said demurely, after a little
pause.
'Why?' he inquired severely.
'The idea makes you so uncomfortable,' Margaret answered. 'If I were
just a nice dull girl, you would only have to lay down the law, and I
should have to accept it. Or else you would not feel obliged to talk to
me at all, which would be simpler.' 'Much,' said Lushington, with some acerbity.
'So much simpler, that I wonder why you do not follow the line of least
resistance!' A short silence came after this suggestion, and Margaret turned over
the pages of her book as if making up her mind where to begin reading.
This was not quite a pretence, for Lushington had told her that it was
and which would develop her reasoning faculties. By way of
encouragement he had added that she would probably not like it. On that
point she agreed with him readily. To people who read much, every new
book has a personality, features and an expression, attractive, dull,
or repulsive, like most human beings one meets for the first time. This
particular book had a particularly priggish expression, like
Lushington's yellow shoes, which were too good and too new, and which
he was examining with apparent earnestness. To tell the truth he did
not see them, for he was wondering whether the blush of annoyance he
felt was unusually visible. The result of thinking about it was that it
deepened to scarlet at once.