Part 32 (1/2)

”There's n.o.body so near to me as my own brother's children.”

”As to that, Margaret, there isn't much difference in nearness between your uncle and your nephews and nieces. But there's a right and a wrong in these things, and when money is concerned, people are not justified in indulging their fancies. Everything here has been told to you. You know how John is situated with his children.

And after what there has been between you and him, and after what there still might be if you would have it so, I own that I am astonished--fairly astonished. Indeed, my dear, I can only look on it as simple weakness on your part. It was but the other day that you told me you had done all that you thought necessary by your brother in taking Susanna.”

”But that was when he was alive, and I thought he was doing well.”

”The fact is, you have been there and they've talked you over. It can't be that you love children that you never saw till the other day; and as for the woman, you always hated her.”

”Whether I love her or hate her has nothing to do with it.”

”Margaret, will you promise me this, that you will see Mr Slow and talk to him about it before you do anything?”

”I must see Mr Slow before I can do anything; but whatever he says, I shall do it all the same.”

”Will you speak to your uncle?”

”I had rather not.”

”You are afraid to tell him of this; but of course he must be told.

Will you speak to John?”

”Certainly; I meant to do so going to town to-morrow.”

”And if he tells you you are wrong--”

”Aunt, I know I am not wrong. It is nonsense to say that I am wrong in--”

”That's disrespectful, Margaret!”

”I don't want to be disrespectful, aunt; but in such a case as this I know that I have a right to do what I like with my own money. If I was going to give it away to any other friend, if I was going to marry, or anything like that,”--she blushed at the remembrance of the iniquities she had half intended as she said this--”then there might be some reason for you to scold me; but with a brother and a brother's family it can't be wrong. If you had a brother, and had been with him when he was dying, and he had left his wife and children looking to you, you would have done the same.”

Upon this Lady Ball got up from her chair and walked to the door.

Margaret had been more impetuous and had answered her with much more confidence than she had expected. She was determined now to say one more word, but so to say it that it should not be answered--to strike one more blow, but so to strike it that it should not be returned.

”Margaret,” she said, as she stood with the door open in her hands, ”if you will reflect where the money came from, your conscience will tell you without much difficulty where it should go to. And when you think of your brother's children, whom this time last year you had hardly seen, think also of John Ball's children, who have welcomed you into this house as their dearest relative. In one sense, certainly, the money is yours, Margaret; but in another sense, and that the highest sense, it is not yours to do what you please with it.”

Then Lady Ball shut the door rather loudly, and sailed away along the hall. When the pa.s.sages were clear, Miss Mackenzie made her way up into her own room, and saw none of the family till she came down just before dinner.

She sat for a long time in the chair by her bed-side thinking of her position. Was it true after all that she was bound by a sense of justice to give any of her money to the b.a.l.l.s? It was true that in one sense it had been taken from them, but she had had nothing to do with the taking. If her brother Walter had married and had children, then the b.a.l.l.s would have not expected the money back again. It was ever so many years,--five-and-twenty years, and more since the legacy had been made by Jonathan Ball to her brother, and it seemed to her that her aunt had no common sense on her side in the argument. Was it possible that she should allow her own nephews and nieces to starve while she was rich? She had, moreover, made a promise,--a promise to one who was now dead, and there was a solemnity in that which carried everything else before it. Even though the thing might be unjust, still she must do it.

But she was to give only half her fortune to her brother's family; there would still be the half left for herself, for herself or for these b.a.l.l.s if they wanted it so sorely. She was beginning to hate her money. It had brought to her nothing but tribulation and disappointment. Had Walter left her a hundred a year, she would, not having then dreamed of higher things, have been amply content.

Would it not be better that she should take for herself some modest competence, something on which she might live without trouble to her relatives, without trouble to her friends she had first said,--but as she did so she told herself with scorn that friends she had none,--and then let the b.a.l.l.s have what was left her after she had kept her promise to her brother? Anything would be better than such persecution as that to which her aunt had subjected her.

At last she made up her mind to speak of it all openly to her cousin.

She had an idea that in such matters men were more trustworthy than women, and perhaps less greedy. Her cousin would, she thought, be more just to her than her aunt had been. That her aunt had been very unjust,--cruel and unjust,--she felt a.s.sured.

She came down to dinner, and she could see by the manner of them all that the matter had been discussed since John Ball's return from London. Jack, the eldest son, was not at home, and the three girls who came next to Jack dined with their father and grandfather. To them Margaret endeavoured to talk easily, but she failed. They had never been favourites with her as Jack was, and, on this occasion, she could get very little from them that was satisfactory to her.