Of Mr Samuel Rubb, junior, we must say a few words. His first acquaintance with our heroine was not made under circumstances favourable to him. In that matter of the loan, he departed very widely from the precept which teaches us that honesty is the best policy. And when I feel that our Margaret was at one time really in danger of becoming Mrs Rubb,—that in her ignorance of the world, in the dark gropings of her social philosophy, amidst the difficulties of her solitude, she had not known whether she could do better with herself and her future years, than give herself, and them, and her money to Mr Samuel Rubb, I tremble as I look back upon her danger. It has been said of women that they have an insane desire for matrimony. I believe that the desire, even if it be as general as is here described, is no insanity. But when I see such a woman as Margaret Mackenzie in danger from such a man as Samuel Rubb, junior, I am driven to fear that there may sometimes be a maniacal tendency. But Samuel Rubb was by no means a bad man. He first hankered after the woman’s money, but afterwards he had loved the woman; and my female reader, if she agrees with me, will feel that that virtue covers a multitude of sins.

And he was true to the promise that he made about the loan. He did pay the interest of the money regularly to Mrs Mackenzie in Gower Street, and after a while was known in that house as the recognised lover of Mary Jane, the eldest daughter. It this way it came to pass that he occasionally saw the lady to whose hand he had aspired; for Margaret, when she was assured that Mr Maguire and his bride were never likely to be seen in that locality, did not desert her nephews and nieces in Gower Street.

But we must go back to Sir John Ball. As soon as the coast was clear in Cavendish Square, he took his leave of Margaret. Mrs Mackenzie had left the room, desiring to speak a word to him alone as he came down.

“I shall tell my mother to-night,” he said to Margaret. “You know that all this is not exactly as she wishes it.”

“John,” she said, “if it is as you wish it, I have no right to think of anything beyond that.”

“It is as I wish it,” said he.

“Then tell my aunt, with my love, that I shall hope that she will receive me as her daughter.”

Then they parted, and Margaret was left alone to congratulate herself over her success.

“Sir John,” said Mrs Mackenzie, calling him into the drawing-room; “you must hear my congratulations; you must, indeed.”

“Thank you,” said he, looking foolish; “you are very good.”

“And so is she. She is what you may really call good. She is as good as gold. I know a woman when I see her; and I know that for one like her there are fifty not fit to hold a candle to her. She has nothing mean or little about her—nothing. They may call her a lamb, but she can be a lioness too when there is an occasion.”