“I did,” said she; “and then all the property was mine.”

“But afterwards you said you would have me.”

“Yes; and when you asked me the second time I had nothing. I know all that.”

“I thought nothing about the money then. I mean that I never thought you refused me because you were rich and took me because you were poor. I was not at all unhappy about that when we were walking round the shrubbery. But when I thought you had cared for that man—”

“I had never cared for him,” said Margaret, withdrawing her hand from behind the pillow in her energy, and fearing no longer that she might tremble. “I had never cared for him. He is a false man, and told untruths to my aunt.”

“Yes, he is, a liar,—a damnable liar. That is true at any rate.”

“He is beneath your notice, John, and beneath mine. I will not speak of him.”

Sir John, however, had an idea that when he felt the wasp’s venom through all his blood, the wasp could not be altogether beneath his notice.

“The question is,” said he, speaking between his teeth, and hardly pronouncing his words, “the question is whether you care for me.”

“I do,” said she turning round upon him; and as she did so our Griselda took both his hands in hers. “I do, John. I do care for you. I love you better than all the world besides. Whom else have I to love at all? If you choose to think it mean of me, now that I am so poor, I cannot help it. But who was it told me to be firm? Who was it told me? Who was it told me?”

Lady Ball had lost her game, and Mrs Mackenzie had been a true prophet. Mrs Mackenzie had been one of those prophets who knew how to assist the accomplishment of their own prophecies, and Lady Ball had played her game with very indifferent skill. Sir John endeavoured to say a word as to that other alternative that he had to offer, but the lamb was not lamb-like enough to listen to it. I doubt even whether Margaret knew, when at night she thought over the affairs of the day, that any such offer had been made to her. During the rest of the interview she was by far the greatest talker, and she would not rest till she had made him swear that he believed her when she said, that both in rejecting him and accepting him, she had been guided simply by her affection. “You know, John,” she said, “a woman can’t love a man all at once.”

They had been together for the best part of two hours, when Mrs Mackenzie knocked at the door. “May I come in?”

“Oh, yes,” said Margaret.

“And may I ask a question?” She knew by the tone of her cousin’s voice that no question could come amiss.

“You must ask him,” said Margaret, coming to her and kissing her.