If Mr. Thornton was a fool in the morning, as he assured himself
at least twenty times he was, he did not grow much wiser in the
afternoon. All that he gained in return for his sixpenny omnibus
ride, was a more vivid conviction that there never was, never
could be, any one like Margaret; that she did not love him and
never would; but that she--no! nor the whole world--should never
hinder him from loving her. And so he returned to the little
market-place, and remounted the omnibus to return to Milton.
It was late in the afternoon when he was set down, near his
warehouse. The accustomed places brought back the accustomed
habits and trains of thought. He knew how much he had to do--more
than his usual work, owing to the commotion of the day before. He
had to see his brother magistrates; he had to complete the
arrangements, only half made in the morning, for the comfort and
safety of his newly imported Irish hands; he had to secure them
from all chance of communication with the discontented
work-people of Milton. Last of all, he had to go home and
encounter his mother.
Mrs. Thornton had sat in the dining-room all day, every moment
expecting the news of her son's acceptance by Miss Hale. She had
braced herself up many and many a time, at some sudden noise in
the house; had caught up the half-dropped work, and begun to ply
her needle diligently, though through dimmed spectacles, and with
an unsteady hand! and many times had the door opened, and some
indifferent person entered on some insignificant errand. Then her
rigid face unstiffened from its gray frost-bound expression, and
the features dropped into the relaxed look of despondency, so
unusual to their sternness. She wrenched herself away from the
contemplation of all the dreary changes that would be brought
about to herself by her son's marriage; she forced her thoughts
into the accustomed household grooves. The newly-married
couple-to-be would need fresh household stocks of linen; and Mrs.
Thornton had clothes-basket upon clothes-basket, full of
table-cloths and napkins, brought in, and began to reckon up the
store. There was some confusion between what was hers, and
consequently marked G. H. T. (for George and Hannah Thornton),
and what was her son's--bought with his money, marked with his
initials. Some of those marked G. H. T. were Dutch damask of the
old kind, exquisitely fine; none were like them now. Mrs.
Thornton stood looking at them long,--they had been her pride
when she was first married. Then she knit her brows, and pinched
and compressed her lips tight, and carefully unpicked the G. H.
She went so far as to search for the Turkey-red marking-thread to
put in the new initials; but it was all used,--and she had no
heart to send for any more just yet. So she looked fixedly at
vacancy; a series of visions passing before her, in all of which
her son was the principal, the sole object,--her son, her pride,
her property. Still he did not come. Doubtless he was with Miss
Hale. The new love was displacing her already from her place as
first in his heart. A terrible pain--a pang of vain
jealousy--shot through her: she hardly knew whether it was more
physical or mental; but it forced her to sit down. In a moment,
she was up again as straight as ever,--a grim smile upon her face
for the first time that day, ready for the door opening, and the
rejoicing triumphant one, who should never know the sore regret
his mother felt at his marriage. In all this, there was little
thought enough of the future daughter-in-law as an individual.
She was to be John's wife. To take Mrs. Thornton's place as
mistress of the house, was only one of the rich consequences
which decked out the supreme glory; all household plenty and
comfort, all purple and fine linen, honour, love, obedience,
troops of friends, would all come as naturally as jewels on a
king's robe, and be as little thought of for their separate
value. To be chosen by John, would separate a kitchen-wench from
the rest of the world. And Miss Hale was not so bad. If she had
been a Milton lass, Mrs. Thornton would have positively liked
her. She was pungent, and had taste, and spirit, and flavour in
her. True, she was sadly prejudiced, and very ignorant; but that
was to be expected from her southern breeding. A strange sort of
mortified comparison of Fanny with her, went on in Mrs.
Thornton's mind; and for once she spoke harshly to her daughter;
abused her roundly; and then, as if by way of penance, she took
up Henry's Commentaries, and tried to fix her attention on it,
instead of pursuing the employment she took pride and pleasure
in, and continuing her inspection of the table-linen.