Part 51 (1/2)

She had often told herself, in those days of her philosophy at Littlebath, that she did not care to be a lady; and she told herself now the same thing very often when she was thinking of the hospital.

She cosseted herself with no false ideas as to the nature of the work which she proposed to undertake. She knew very well that she might have to keep rougher company than that of Buggins if she put her shoulder to that wheel. She was willing enough to do this, and had been willing to encounter such company ever since she left the Cedars. She was prepared for the roughness. But she would not put herself beyond the pale, as it were, of her cousin's hearth, moved simply by a temptation to relieve the monotony of her life. When the work came within her reach she would go to it, but till then she would bear the wretchedness of her dull room upstairs. She wondered whether he ever thought how wretched she must be in her solitude.

On New Year's Day she heard that her uncle was dead. She was already in mourning for her brother, and was therefore called upon to make no change in that respect. She wrote a note of condolence to her aunt, in which she strove much, and vainly, to be cautious and sympathetic at the same time, and in return received a note, in which Lady Ball declared her purpose of coming to Arundel Street to see her niece as soon as she found herself able to leave the house. She would, she said, give Margaret warning the day beforehand, as it would be very sad if she had her journey all for nothing.

Her aunt, Lady Ball, was coming to see her in Arundel Street! What could be the purpose of such a visit after all that had pa.s.sed between them? And why should her aunt trouble herself to make it at a period of such great distress? Lady Ball must have some very important plan to propose, and poor Margaret's heart was in a flutter. It was ten days after this before the second promised note arrived, and then Margaret was asked to say whether she would be at home and able to receive her aunt's visit at ten minutes past two on the day but one following. Margaret wrote back to say that she would be at home at ten minutes past two on the day named.

Her aunt was old, and she again borrowed the parlour, though she was not now well inclined to ask favours from Mrs Buggins. Mrs Buggins had taken to heart the slight put upon her husband, and sometimes made nasty little speeches.

”Oh dear, yes, in course, Miss Margaret; not that I ever did think much of them b.a.l.l.ses, and less than ever now, since the gentleman was kind enough to send me the newspaper. But she's welcome to the room, seeing as how Mr Tiddy will be in the City, of course; and you're welcome to it, too, though you do keep yourself so close to yourself, which won't ever bring you round to have your money again; that it won't.”

Lady Ball came and was shown into the parlour, and her niece went down to receive her.

”I would have been here before you came, aunt, only the room is not mine.”

In answer to this, Lady Ball said that it did very well. Any room would answer the present purpose. Then she sat down on the sofa from which she had risen. She was dressed, of course, in the full weeds of her widowhood, and the wide extent of her black c.r.a.pe was almost awful in Margaret's eyes. She did not look to be so savage as her niece had sometimes seen her, but there was about her a ponderous acc.u.mulation of c.r.a.pe, which made her even more formidable than she used to be. It would be almost impossible to refuse anything to a person so black, so grave, so heavy, and so big.

”I have come to you, my dear,” she said, ”as soon as I possibly could after the sad event which we have had at home.”

In answer to this, Margaret said that she was much obliged, but she hoped that her aunt had put herself to no trouble. Then she said a word or two about her uncle,--a word or two that was very difficult, as of course it could mean nothing.

”Yes,” said the widow, ”he has been taken from us after a long and useful life. I hope his son will always show himself to be worthy of such a father.”

After that there was silence in the room for a minute or two, during which Margaret waited for her aunt to begin; but Lady Ball sat there solid, grave, and black, as though she thought that her very presence, without any words, might be effective upon Margaret as a preliminary mode of attack. Margaret herself could find nothing to say to her aunt, and she, therefore, also remained silent. Lady Ball was so far successful in this, that when three minutes were over her niece had certainly been weakened by the oppressive nature of the meeting. She had about her less of vivacity, and perhaps also less of vitality, than when she first entered the room.

”Well, my dear,” said her aunt at last, ”there are things, you know, which must be talked about, though they are ever so disagreeable;”

and then she pulled out of her pocket that abominable number of the Littlebath _Christian Examiner_.

”Oh, aunt, I hope you are not going to talk about that.”

”My dear, that is cowardly; it is, indeed. How am I to help talking about it? I have come here, from Twickenham, on purpose to talk about it.”

”Then, aunt, I must decline; I must, indeed.”

”My dear!”

”I must, indeed, aunt.”

Let a man or a woman's vitality be ever so thoroughly crushed and quenched by fatigue or oppression--or even by black c.r.a.pe--there will always be some mode of galvanising which will restore it for a time, some specific either of joy or torture which will produce a return of temporary energy. This Littlebath newspaper was a battery of sufficient power to put Margaret on her legs again, though she perhaps might not be long able to keep them.

”It is a vile, lying paper, and it was written by a vile, lying man, and I hope you will put it up and say nothing about it.”

”It is a vile, lying paper, Margaret; but the lies are against my son, and not against you.”

”He is a man, and knows what he is about, and it does not signify to him. But, aunt, I won't talk about it, and there's an end of it.”

”I hope he does know what he is about,” said Lady Ball. ”I hope he does. But you, as you say, are a woman, and therefore it specially behoves you to know what you are about.”

”I am not doing anything to anybody,” said Margaret.

Lady Ball had now refolded the offensive newspaper, and restored it to her pocket. Perhaps she had done as much with it as she had from the first intended. At any rate, she brought it forth no more, and made no further intentionally direct allusion to it. ”I don't suppose you really wish to do any injury to anybody,” she said.