'Allow me to introduce my aunt, Mrs. Shaw. I am going away from
Milton to-morrow; I do not know if you are aware of it; but I
wanted to see you once again, Mrs. Thornton, to--to apologise for
my manner the last time I saw you; and to say that I am sure you
meant kindly--however much we may have misunderstood each other.' Mrs. Shaw looked extremely perplexed by what Margaret had said.
Thanks for kindness! and apologies for failure in good manners!
But Mrs. Thornton replied: 'Miss Hale, I am glad you do me justice. I did no more than I
believed to be my duty in remonstrating with you as I did. I have
always desired to act the part of a friend to you. I am glad you
do me justice.' 'And,' said Margaret, blushing excessively as she spoke, 'will
you do me justice, and believe that though I cannot--I do not
choose--to give explanations of my conduct, I have not acted in
the unbecoming way you apprehended?' Margaret's voice was so soft, and her eyes so pleading, that Mrs.
Thornton was for once affected by the charm of manner to which
she had hitherto proved herself invulnerable.
'Yes, I do believe you. Let us say no more about it. Where are
you going to reside, Miss Hale? I understood from Mr. Bell that
you were going to leave Milton. You never liked Milton, you
know,' said Mrs. Thornton, with a sort of grim smile; 'but for
all that, you must not expect me to congratulate you on quitting
it. Where shall you live?' 'With my aunt,' replied Margaret, turning towards Mrs. Shaw.
'My niece will reside with me in Harley Street. She is almost
like a daughter to me,' said Mrs. Shaw, looking fondly at
Margaret; 'and I am glad to acknowledge my own obligation for any
kindness that has been shown to her. If you and your husband ever
come to town, my son and daughter, Captain and Mrs. Lennox, will,
I am sure, join with me in wishing to do anything in our power to
show you attention.' Mrs. Thornton thought in her own mind, that Margaret had not
taken much care to enlighten her aunt as to the relationship
between the Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, towards whom the fine-lady
aunt was extending her soft patronage; so she answered shortly, 'My husband is dead. Mr. Thornton is my son. I never go to
London; so I am not likely to be able to avail myself of your
polite offers.' At this instant Mr. Thornton entered the room; he had only just
returned from Oxford. His mourning suit spoke of the reason that
had called him there.