“Think well of it, Margaret, if you can.”

“I fear I cannot think well of it,” she answered. But she spoke so low, that I doubt whether he completely heard her words. The train up to London was nearly full, and there he had no opportunity of speaking to her. But he desired no such opportunity. He had said all that he had to say, and was almost well pleased to know that a final answer was to be given to him, not personally, but by letter. His mother had spoken to him that morning, and had made him understand that she was not well pleased with Margaret; but she had said nothing to quench her son’s hopes.

“Of course she will accept you,” Lady Ball had said, “but women like her never like to do anything without making a fuss about it.”

“To me, yesterday, I thought she behaved admirably,” said her son.

At the station at London he put her into the cab that was to take her to Gower Street, and as he shook hands with her through the window, he once more said the same words:

“Think well of it, Margaret, if you can.”

Chapter VIII.
Mrs Tom Mackenzie’s Dinner Party

Mrs Tom was ever so gracious on the arrival of her sister-in-law, but even in her graciousness there was something which seemed to Margaret to tell of her dislike. Near relatives, when they are on good terms with each other, are not gracious. Now, Mrs Tom, though she was ever so gracious, was by no means cordial. Susanna, however, was delighted to see her aunt, and Margaret, when she felt the girl’s arms round her neck, declared to herself that that should suffice for her,—that should be her love, and it should be enough. If indeed, in after years, she could make Jack love her too, that would be better still. Then her mind went to work upon a little marriage scheme that would in due time make a baronet’s wife of Susanna. It would not suit her to become Lady Ball, but it might suit Susanna.

“We are going to have a little dinner party to-day,” said Mrs Tom.

“A dinner party!” said Margaret. “I didn’t look for that, Sarah.”

“Perhaps I ought not to call it a party, for there are only one or two coming. There’s Dr Slumpy and his wife; I don’t know whether you ever met Dr Slumpy. He has attended us for ever so long; and there is Miss Colza, a great friend of mine. Mademoiselle Colza I ought to call her, because her father was a Portuguese. Only as she never saw him, we call her Miss. And there’s Mr Rubb,—Samuel Rubb, junior. I think you met him at Littlebath.”

“Yes; I know Mr Rubb.”

“That’s all; and I might as well say how it will be now. Mr Rubb will take you down to dinner. Tom will take Mrs Slumpy, and the doctor will take me. Young Tom,”—Young Tom was her son, who was now beginning his career at Rubb and Mackenzie’s,—“Young Tom will take Miss Colza, and Mary Jane and Susanna will come down by themselves. We might have managed twelve, and Tom did think of asking Mr Handcock and one of the other clerks, but he did not know whether you would have liked it.”