But one morning she received a letter, saying that next week he

meant to come up to town; he wanted to see her about a plan which

he had in his head; and, moreover, he intended to treat himself

to a little doctoring, as he had begun to come round to her

opinion, that it would be pleasanter to think that his health was

more in fault than he, when he found himself irritable and cross.

There was altogether a tone of forced cheerfulness in the letter,

as Margaret noticed afterwards; but at the time her attention was

taken up by Edith's exclamations.

'Coming up to town! Oh dear! and I am so worn out by the heat

that I don't believe I have strength enough in me for another

dinner. Besides, everybody has left but our dear stupid selves,

who can't settle where to go to. There would be nobody to meet

him.' 'I'm sure he would much rather come and dine with us quite alone

than with the most agreeable strangers you could pick up.

Besides, if he is not well he won't wish for invitations. I am

glad he has owned it at last. I was sure he was ill from the

whole tone of his letters, and yet he would not answer me when I

asked him, and I had no third person to whom I could apply for

news.' 'Oh! he is not very ill, or he would not think of Spain.' 'He never mentions Spain.' 'No! but his plan that is to be proposed evidently relates to

that. But would you really go in such weather as this?' 'Oh! it will get cooler every day. Yes! Think of it! I am only

afraid I have thought and wished too much--in that absorbing

wilful way which is sure to be disappointed--or else gratified,

to the letter, while in the spirit it gives no pleasure.' 'But that's superstitious, I'm sure, Margaret.' 'No, I don't think it is. Only it ought to warn me, and check me

from giving way to such passionate wishes. It is a sort of "Give

me children, or else I die." I'm afraid my cry is, "Let me go to

Cadiz, or else I die."' 'My dear Margaret! You'll be persuaded to stay there; and then

what shall I do? Oh! I wish I could find somebody for you to

marry here, that I could be sure of you!' 'I shall never marry.' 'Nonsense, and double nonsense! Why, as Sholto says, you're such

an attraction to the house, that he knows ever so many men who

will be glad to Visit here next year for your sake.' Margaret drew herself up haughtily. 'Do you know, Edith, I

sometimes think your Corfu life has taught you----' 'Well!' 'Just a shade or two of coarseness.' Edith began to sob so bitterly, and to declare so vehemently that

Margaret had lost all love for her, and no longer looked upon her

as a friend, that Margaret came to think that she had expressed

too harsh an opinion for the relief of her own wounded pride, and

ended by being Edith's slave for the rest of the day; while that

little lady, overcome by wounded feeling, lay like a victim on

the sofa, heaving occasionally a profound sigh, till at last she

fell asleep.




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