Mrs. Thornton was shy. It was only of late years that she had had
leisure enough in her life to go into society; and as society she
did not enjoy it. As dinner-giving, and as criticising other
people's dinners, she took satisfaction in it. But this going to
make acquaintance with strangers was a very different thing. She
was ill at ease, and looked more than usually stern and
forbidding as she entered the Hales' little drawing-room.
Margaret was busy embroidering a small piece of cambric for some
little article of dress for Edith's expected baby--'Flimsy,
useless work,' as Mrs. Thornton observed to herself. She liked
Mrs. Hale's double knitting far better; that was sensible of its
kind. The room altogether was full of knick-knacks, which must
take a long time to dust; and time to people of limited income
was money. She made all these reflections as she was talking in
her stately way to Mrs. Hale, and uttering all the stereotyped
commonplaces that most people can find to say with their senses
blindfolded. Mrs. Hale was making rather more exertion in her
answers, captivated by some real old lace which Mrs. Thornton
wore; 'lace,' as she afterwards observed to Dixon, 'of that old
English point which has not been made for this seventy years, and
which cannot be bought. It must have been an heir-loom, and shows
that she had ancestors.' So the owner of the ancestral lace
became worthy of something more than the languid exertion to be
agreeable to a visitor, by which Mrs. Hale's efforts at
conversation would have been otherwise bounded. And presently,
Margaret, racking her brain to talk to Fanny, heard her mother
and Mrs. Thornton plunge into the interminable subject of
servants.
'I suppose you are not musical,' said Fanny, 'as I see no piano.' 'I am fond of hearing good music; I cannot play well myself; and
papa and mamma don't care much about it; so we sold our old piano
when we came here.' 'I wonder how you can exist without one. It almost seems to me a
necessary of life.' 'Fifteen shillings a week, and three saved out of them!' thought
Margaret to herself 'But she must have been very young. She
probably has forgotten her own personal experience. But she must
know of those days.' Margaret's manner had an extra tinge of
coldness in it when she next spoke.
'You have good concerts here, I believe.' 'Oh, yes! Delicious! Too crowded, that is the worst. The
directors admit so indiscriminately. But one is sure to hear the
newest music there. I always have a large order to give to
Johnson's, the day after a concert.' 'Do you like new music simply for its newness, then?' 'Oh; one knows it is the fashion in London, or else the singers
would not bring it down here. You have been in London, of
course.' 'Yes,' said Margaret, 'I have lived there for several years.' 'Oh! London and the Alhambra are the two places I long to see!' 'London and the Alhambra!' 'Yes! ever since I read the Tales of the Alhambra. Don't you know
them?' 'I don't think I do. But surely, it is a very easy journey to
London.' 'Yes; but somehow,' said Fanny, lowering her voice, 'mamma has
never been to London herself, and can't understand my longing.
She is very proud of Milton; dirty, smoky place, as I feel it to
be. I believe she admires it the more for those very qualities.' 'If it has been Mrs. Thornton's home for some years, I can well
understand her loving it,' said Margaret, in her clear bell-like
voice.