North and South
Page 48Just as Margaret had exhausted her last subject of
conversation--and yet conversation that could hardly be called
which consisted of so few and such short speeches--her father
came in, and with his pleasant gentlemanly courteousness of
apology, reinstated his name and family in Mr. Thornton's good
opinion.
Mr. Hale and his visitor had a good deal to say respecting their
mutual friend, Mr. Bell; and Margaret, glad that her part of
entertaining the visitor was over, went to the window to try and
make herself more familiar with the strange aspect of the street.
She got so much absorbed in watching what was going on outside
to repeat what he said: 'Margaret! the landlord will persist in admiring that hideous
paper, and I am afraid we must let it remain.' 'Oh dear! I am sorry!' she replied, and began to turn over in her
mind the possibility of hiding part of it, at least, by some of
her sketches, but gave up the idea at last, as likely only to
make bad worse. Her father, meanwhile, with his kindly country
hospitality, was pressing Mr. Thornton to stay to luncheon with
them. It would have been very inconvenient to him to do so, yet
he felt that he should have yielded, if Margaret by word or look
had seconded her father's invitation; he was glad she did not,
and yet he was irritated at her for not doing it. She gave him a
self-conscious in every limb than he had ever done in all his
life before.
'Well, Margaret, now to luncheon, as fast we can. Have you
ordered it?' 'No, papa; that man was here when I came home, and I have never
had an opportunity.' 'Then we must take anything we can get. He must have been waiting
a long time, I'm afraid.' 'It seemed exceedingly long to me. I was just at the last gasp
when you came in. He never went on with any subject, but gave
little, short, abrupt answers.' 'Very much to the point though, I should think. He is a
clearheaded fellow. He said (did you hear?) that Crampton is on
gravelly soil, and by far the most healthy suburb in the
given to Mrs. Hale, who was full of questions which they answered
in the intervals of tea-drinking.
'And what is your correspondent, Mr. Thornton, like?' 'Ask Margaret,' said her husband. 'She and he had a long attempt
at conversation, while I was away speaking to the landlord.' 'Oh! I hardly know what he is like,' said Margaret, lazily; too
tired to tax her powers of description much. And then rousing
herself, she said, 'He is a tall, broad-shouldered man,
about--how old, papa?' 'I should guess about thirty.' 'About thirty--with a face that is neither exactly plain, nor yet
handsome, nothing remarkable--not quite a gentleman; but that was
hardly to be expected.' 'Not vulgar, or common though,' put in her father, rather jealous
of any disparagement of the sole friend he had in Milton.