In answer to this, Margaret was able to say nothing further. She sat for a while with her face buried in her hands thinking of it all, asking herself whether she might dare to believe it all. At last, however, she went up to dress for dinner; and when she came down to the drawing-room there was a smile upon her face.

After that a month or six weeks passed in Cavendish Square, and there was, during all that time, no further special reference to Sir John Ball or his affairs. Twice he was asked to dine with the Mackenzies, and on both occasions he did so. On neither of those evenings did he say very much to Margaret; but, on both of them he said some few words, and it was manifestly his desire that they should be regarded as friends.

And as the spring came on, Margaret’s patience returned to her, and her spirits were higher than they had been at any time since she first discovered that success among the Stumfoldians at Littlebath did not make her happy.

Chapter XXVII.
The Negro Soldiers’ Orphan Bazaar

In the spring days of the early May there came up in London that year a great bazaar,—a great charity bazaar on behalf of the orphan children of negro soldiers who had fallen in the American war. Tidings had come to this country that all slaves taken in the revolted States had been made free by the Northern invaders, and that these free men had been called upon to show their immediate gratitude by becoming soldiers in the Northern ranks. As soldiers they were killed in battle, or died, and as dead men they left orphans behind them. Information had come that many of these orphans were starving, and hence had arisen the cause for the Negro Soldiers’ Orphan Bazaar. There was still in existence at that time, down at South Kensington, some remaining court or outstanding building which had belonged to the Great International Exhibition, and here the bazaar was to be held. I do not know that I can trace the way in which the idea grew and became great, or that anyone at the time was able to attribute the honour to the proper founder. Some gave it all to the Prince of Wales, declaring that his royal highness had done it out of his own head; and others were sure that the whole business had originated with a certain philanthropical Mr Manfred Smith who had lately come up in the world, and was supposed to have a great deal to do with most things. Be that as it may, this thing did grow and become great, and there was a list of lady patronesses which included some duchesses, one marchioness, and half the countesses in London. It was soon manifest to the eyes of those who understood such things, that the Negro Soldiers’ Orphan Bazaar was to be a success, and therefore there was no difficulty whatsoever in putting the custody of the stalls into the hands of proper persons. The difficulty consisted in rejecting offers from persons who undoubtedly were quite proper for such an occasion. There came to be interest made for permission to serve, and boastings were heard of unparalleled success in the bazaar line. The Duchess of St Bungay had a happy bevy of young ladies who were to act as counter attendants under her grace; and who so happy as any young lady who could get herself put upon the duchess’s staff? It was even rumoured that a certain very distinguished person would have shown herself behind a stall, had not a certain other more distinguished person expressed an objection; and while the rumour was afloat as to the junior of those two distinguished persons, the young-ladydom of London was frantic in its eagerness to officiate. Now at that time there had become attached to the name of our poor Griselda a romance with which the west-end of London had become wonderfully well acquainted. The story of the Lion and the Lamb was very popular. Mr Maguire may be said to have made himself odious to the fashionable world at large, and the fate of poor Margaret Mackenzie with her lost fortune, and the additional misfortune of her clerical pledged protector, had recommended itself as being truly interesting to all the feeling hearts of the season. Before May was over, gentlemen were enticed to dinner parties by being told—and untruly told—that the Lamb had been “secured;” as on the previous year they had been enticed by a singular assurance as to Bishop Colenso; and when Margaret on one occasion allowed herself to be taken to Covent Garden Theatre, every face from the stalls was turned towards her between the acts.