“Women have plenty of lovers when they have plenty of money,” said the baronet.

“I don’t believe that Margaret thinks of anything of the kind,” said Lady Ball.

After that Margaret determined to have as little to do with the carriage as possible, and on that evening she learned from her cousin that the horses had been sold to the man who farmed the land, and were hired every other day for two hours’ work.

It was on the Thursday morning that Miss Mackenzie had spoken of going into town on the morrow, and on that day when her aunt asked her about the driving, she declined.

“I hope that nothing your uncle said on Tuesday annoyed you?”

“Oh dear, no; but if you don’t mind it, I’d rather stay at home.”

“Of course you shall if you like it,” said her aunt; “and by-the-by, as I want to speak to you, and as we might not find time after coming home, if you don’t mind it I’ll do it now.”

Of course Margaret said that she did not mind it, though in truth she did mind it, and was afraid of her aunt.

“Well then, Margaret, look here. I want to know something about your brother’s affairs. From what I have heard, I fear they were not very good.”

“They were very bad, aunt,—very bad indeed.”

“Dear, dear; you don’t say so. Sir John always feared that it would be so when Thomas Mackenzie mixed himself up with those Rubbs. And there has gone half of Jonathan Ball’s money,—money which Sir John made! Well, well!”

Miss Mackenzie had nothing to say to this; and as she had nothing to say to it she sat silent, making no attempt at any words.

“It does seem hard; don’t it, my dear?”

“It wouldn’t make any difference to anybody now—to my uncle, I mean, or to John, if the money was not gone.”

“That’s quite true; quite true; only it does seem to be a pity. However, that half of Jonathan’s money which you have got, is not lost, and there’s some comfort in that.”

Miss Mackenzie was not called upon to make any answer to this; for although she had lost a large sum of money by lending it to her brother, nevertheless she was still possessed of a larger sum of money than that which her brother Walter had received from Jonathan Ball.

“And what are they going to do, my dear—the children, I mean, and the widow? I suppose there’ll be something for them out of the business?”

“I don’t think there’ll be anything, aunt. As far as I can understand there will be nothing certain. They may probably get a hundred and twenty-five pounds a-year.” This she named, as being the interest of the money she had lent—or given.

“A hundred and twenty-five pounds a-year. That isn’t much, but it will keep them from absolute want.”

“Would it, aunt?”

“Oh, yes; at least, I suppose so. I hope she’s a good manager. She ought to be, for she’s a very disagreeable woman. You told me that yourself, you know.”