But then the business of the day as regarded the Cedars began; for John Ball, before he went to bed, told both his father and his mother the whole story,—the story, that is, as far as the money was concerned, and also as far as Margaret’s conduct to him was concerned; but of his own feelings towards her he said nothing.

“She has behaved admirably, mother,” he said; “you must acknowledge that, and I think that she is entitled to all the kindness we can show her.”

“I have been kind to her,” Lady Ball answered.

This had taken place in Lady Ball’s own room, after they had left Sir John. The tidings had taken the old man so much by surprise, that he had said little or nothing. Even his caustic ill-nature had deserted him, except on one occasion, when he remarked that it was like his brother Jonathan to do as much harm with his money as was within his reach.

“My memory in such a matter is worth nothing,—absolutely nothing,” the old man had said. “I always supposed something was wrong. I remember that. But I left it all to the lawyers.”

In Lady Ball’s room the conversation was prolonged to a late hour of the night, and took various twists and turns, as such conversations will do.

“What are we to do about the young woman?” That was Lady Ball’s main question, arising, no doubt, from the reflection that the world would lean very heavily on them if they absolutely turned her out to starve in the streets.

John Ball made no proposition in answer to this, having not as yet made up his mind as to what his own wishes were with reference to the young woman. Then his mother made her proposition.

“Of course that money due by the Rubbs must be paid. Let her take that.” But her son made no reply to this other than that he feared the Rubbs were not in a condition to pay the money.

“They would pay her the interest at any rate,” said Lady Ball, “till she had got into some other way of life. She would do admirably for a companion to an old lady, because her manners are good, and she does not want much waiting upon herself.”

On the next morning Miss Mackenzie trembled in her shoes as she came down to breakfast. Her uncle, whom she feared the most, would not be there; but the meeting with her aunt, when her aunt would know that she was a pauper and that she had for the last week been an impostor, was terrible to her by anticipation. But she had not calculated that her aunt’s triumph in this newly-acquired wealth for the Ball family would, for the present, cover any other feeling that might exist. Her aunt met her with a gracious smile, was very urbane in selecting a chair for her at prayers close to her own, and pressed upon her a piece of buttered toast out of a little dish that was always prepared for her ladyship’s own consumption. After breakfast John Ball again went to town. He went daily to town during the present crisis; and, on this occasion, his mother made no remark as to the urgency of his business. When he was gone Lady Ball began to potter about the house, after her daily custom, and was longer in her pottering than was usual with her. Miss Mackenzie helped the younger children in their lessons, as she often did; and when time for luncheon came, she had almost begun to think that she was to be allowed to escape any conversation with her aunt touching the great money question. But it was not so. At one she was told that luncheon and the children’s dinner was postponed till two, and she was asked by the servant to go up to Lady Ball in her own room.