'Mamma is accusing me of having picked up a great deal of
vulgarity since we came to Milton.' The 'vulgarity' Margaret spoke of, referred purely to the use of
local words, and the expression arose out of the conversation
they had just been holding. But Mr. Thornton's brow darkened; and
Margaret suddenly felt how her speech might be misunderstood by
him; so, in the natural sweet desire to avoid giving unnecessary
pain, she forced herself to go forwards with a little greeting,
and continue what she was saying, addressing herself to him
expressly.
'Now, Mr. Thornton, though "knobstick" has not a very pretty
sound, is it not expressive? Could I do without it, in speaking
of the thing it represents? If using local words is vulgar, I was
very vulgar in the Forest,--was I not, mamma?' It was unusual with Margaret to obtrude her own subject of
conversation on others; but, in this case, she was so anxious to
prevent Mr. Thornton from feeling annoyance at the words he had
accidentally overheard, that it was not until she had done
speaking that she coloured all over with consciousness, more
especially as Mr. Thornton seemed hardly to understand the exact
gist or bearing of what she was saying, but passed her by, with a
cold reserve of ceremonious movement, to speak to Mrs. Hale.
The sight of him reminded her of the wish to see his mother, and
commend Margaret to her care. Margaret, sitting in burning
silence, vexed and ashamed of her difficulty in keeping her right
place, and her calm unconsciousness of heart, when Mr. Thornton
was by, heard her mother's slow entreaty that Mrs. Thornton would
come and see her; see her soon; to-morrow, if it were possible.
Mr. Thornton promised that she should--conversed a little, and
then took his leave; and Margaret's movements and voice seemed at
once released from some invisible chains. He never looked at her;
and yet, the careful avoidance of his eyes betokened that in some
way he knew exactly where, if they fell by chance, they would
rest on her. If she spoke, he gave no sign of attention, and yet
his next speech to any one else was modified by what she had
said; sometimes there was an express answer to what she had
remarked, but given to another person as though unsuggested by
her. It was not the bad manners of ignorance it was the wilful
bad manners arising from deep offence. It was wilful at the time,
repented of afterwards. But no deep plan, no careful cunning
could have stood him in such good stead. Margaret thought about
him more than she had ever done before; not with any tinge of
what is called love, but with regret that she had wounded him so
deeply,--and with a gentle, patient striving to return to their
former position of antagonistic friendship; for a friend's
position was what she found that he had held in her regard, as
well as in that of the rest of the family. There was a pretty
humility in her behaviour to him, as if mutely apologising for
the over-strong words which were the reaction from the deeds of
the day of the riot.