“I cannot say that word, Mr Rubb.”

“And why not?”

“I cannot say it; indeed, I cannot.”

“Is it Mr Ball that prevents you?”

“Do not ask me questions like that. Indeed, indeed, indeed, I cannot do as you ask me.”

“You despise me, like enough, because I am only a tradesman?”

“What am I myself, that I should despise any man? No, Mr Rubb, I am thankful and grateful to you; but it cannot be.”

Then he took up his hat, and, turning away from her without any word of adieu, made his way out of the house.

“He really do seem a nice man, Miss,” said Mrs Buggins. “I wonder you wouldn’t have him liefer than go into one of them hospitals.”

Whether Miss Mackenzie had any remnant left of another hope, or whether all such hope had gone, we need not perhaps inquire accurately. Whatever might be the state of her mind on that score, she was doing her best to carry out her purpose with reference to the plan of nursing; and as she could not now apply to her cousin, she had written to Mr Slow upon the subject.

Late in November yet another gentleman came to see her, but when he came she was unfortunately out. She had gone up to the house in Gower Street, and had there been so cross-questioned by the indefatigable Miss Colza that she had felt herself compelled to tell her sister-in-law that she could not again come there as long as Miss Colza was one of the family. It was manifest to her that these questions had been put on behalf of Mr Maguire, and she had therefore felt more indignant than she would have been had they originated in the impertinent curiosity of the woman herself. She also informed Mrs Mackenzie that, in obedience to instructions from Mr Slow, she intended to postpone her purpose with reference to the hospital till some time early in the next year. Mr Slow had sent a clerk to her to explain that till that time such amicable arrangement as that to which he looked forward to make could not be completed. On her return from this visit to Gower Street she found the card,—simply the card,—of her cousin, John Ball.

Why had she gone out? Why had she not remained a fixture in the house, seeing that it had always been possible that he should come? But why! oh, why! had he treated her in this way, leaving his card at her home, as though that would comfort her in her grievous desolation? It would have been far better that he should have left there no intimation of his coming. She took the card, and in her anger threw it from her into the fire.

But yet she waited for him to come again. Not once during the next ten days, excepting on the Sunday, did she go out of the house during the hours that her cousin would be in London. Very sad and monotonous was her life, passed alone in her own bedroom. And it was the more sad, because Mrs Buggins somewhat resented the manner in which her husband was treated. Mrs Buggins was still attentive, but she made little speeches about Buggins’ respectability, and Margaret felt that her presence in the house was an annoyance.