Part 51 (2/2)
”Does anybody accuse me of doing them an injury?” Margaret asked.
”Well, my dear, if I were to say that I accused you, perhaps you would misunderstand me. I hope--I thoroughly expect, that before I leave you, I may be able to say that I do not accuse you. If you will only listen to me patiently for a few minutes, Margaret--which I couldn't get you to do, you know, before you went away from the Cedars in that very extraordinary manner--I think I can explain to you something which--” Here Lady Ball became embarra.s.sed, and paused; but Margaret gave her no a.s.sistance, and therefore she began a new sentence. ”In point of fact, I want you to listen to what I say, and then, I think--I do think--you will do as we would have you.”
Whom did she include in that word ”we”? Margaret had still sufficient vitality not to let the word pa.s.s by unquestioned. ”You mean yourself and John?” said she.
”I mean the family,” said Lady Ball rather sharply. ”I mean the whole family, including those dear girls to whom I have been in the position of a mother since my son's wife died. It is in the name of the Ball family that I now speak, and surely I have a right.”
Margaret thought that Lady Ball had no such right, but she would not say so at that moment.
”Well, Margaret, to come to the point at once, the fact is this. You must renounce any idea that you may still have of becoming my son's wife.” Then she paused.
”Has John sent you here to say this?” demanded Margaret.
”I don't wish you to ask any such question as that. If you had any real regard for him I don't think you would ask it. Consider his difficulties, and consider the position of those poor children! If he were your brother, would you advise him, at his age, to marry a woman without a farthing, and also to incur the certain disgrace which would attach to his name after--after all that has been said about it in this newspaper?”--then, Lady Ball put her hand upon her pocket--”in this newspaper, and in others?”
This was more than Margaret could bear. ”There would be no disgrace,”
said she, jumping to her feet.
”Margaret, if you put yourself into a pa.s.sion, how can you understand reason? You ought to know, yourself, by the very fact of your being in a pa.s.sion, that you are wrong. Would there be no disgrace, after all that has come out about Mr Maguire?”
”No, none--none!” almost shouted this modern Griselda. ”There could be no disgrace. I won't admit it. As for his marrying me, I don't expect it. There is nothing to bind him to me. If he doesn't come to me I certainly shall not go to him. I have looked upon it as all over between him and me; and as I have not troubled him with any importunities, nor yet you, it is cruel in you to come to me in this way. He is free to do what he likes--why don't you go to him? But there would be no disgrace.”
”Of course he is free. Of course such a marriage never can take place now. It is quite out of the question. You say that it is all over, and you are quite right. Why not let this be settled in a friendly way between you and me, so that we might be friends again? I should be so glad to help you in your difficulties if you would agree with me about this.”
”I want no help.”
”Margaret, that is nonsense. In your position you are very wrong to set your natural friends at defiance. If you will only authorise me to say that you renounce this marriage--”
”I will not renounce it,” said Margaret, who was still standing up.
”I will not renounce it. I would sooner lose my tongue than let it say such a word. You may tell him, if you choose to tell him anything, that I demand nothing from him; nothing. All that I once thought mine is now his, and I demand nothing from him. But when he asked me to be his wife he told me to be firm, and in that I will obey him. He may renounce me, and I shall have nothing with which to reproach him; but I will never renounce him--never.” And then the modern Griselda, who had been thus galvanised into vitality, stood over her aunt in a mood that was almost triumphant.
”Margaret, I am astonished at you,” said Lady Ball, when she had recovered herself.
”I can't help that, aunt.”
”And now let me tell you this. My son is, of course, old enough to do as he pleases. If he chooses to ruin himself and his children by marrying, anybody--even if it were out of the streets--I can't help it. Stop a moment and hear me to the end.” This she said, as her niece had made a movement as though towards the door. ”I say, even if it were out of the streets, I couldn't help it. But nothing shall induce me to live in the same house with him if he marries you. It will be on your conscience for ever that you have brought ruin on the whole family, and that will be your punishment. As for me, I shall take myself off to some solitude, and--there--I--shall--die.” Then Lady Ball put her handkerchief up to her face and wept copiously.
Margaret stood still, leaning upon the table, but she spoke no word, either in answer to the threat or to the tears. Her immediate object was to take herself out of the room, but this she did not know how to achieve. At last her aunt spoke again: ”If you please, I will get you to ask your landlady to send for a cab.” Then the cab was procured, and Buggins, who had come home for his dinner, handed her ladys.h.i.+p in. Not a word had been spoken during the time that the cab was being fetched, and when Lady Ball went down the pa.s.sage, she merely said, ”I wish you good-bye, Margaret.”
”Good-bye,” said Margaret, and then she escaped to her own bedroom.
Lady Ball had not done her work well. It was not within her power to induce Margaret to renounce her engagement, and had she known her niece better, I do not think that she would have made the attempt.
She did succeed in learning that Margaret had received no renewal of an offer from her son,--that there was, in fact, no positive engagement now existing between them; and with this, I think, she should have been satisfied. Margaret had declared that she demanded nothing from her cousin, and with this a.s.surance Lady Ball should have been contented. But she had thought to carry her point, to obtain the full swing of her will, by means of a threat, and had forgotten that in the very words of her own menace she conveyed to Margaret some intimation that her son was still desirous of doing that very thing which she was so anxious to prevent. There was no chance that her threat should have any effect on Margaret. She ought to have known that the tone of the woman's mind was much too firm for that. Margaret knew--was as sure of it as any woman could be sure--that her cousin was bound to her by all ties of honour. She believed, too, that he was bound to her by love, and that if he should finally desert it, he would be moved to do so by mean motives.
It was no anger on the score of Mr Maguire that would bring him to such a course, no suspicion that she was personally unworthy of being his wife. Our Griselda, with all her power of suffering and willingness to suffer, understood all that, and was by no means disposed to give way to any threat from Lady Ball.
When she was upstairs, and once more in solitude, she disgraced herself again by crying. She could be strong enough when attacked by others, but could not be strong when alone. She cried and sobbed upon her bed, and then, rising, looked at herself in the gla.s.s, and told herself that she was old and ugly, and fitted only for that hospital nursing of which she had been thinking. But still there was something about her heart that bore her up. Lady Ball would not have come to her, would not have exercised her eloquence upon her, would not have called upon her to renounce this engagement, had she not found all similar attempts upon her own son to be ineffectual. Could it then be so, that, after all, her cousin would be true to her? If it were so, if it could be so, what would she not do for him and for his children? If it were so, how blessed would have been all these troubles that had brought her to such a haven at last! Then she tried to reconcile his coldness to her with that which she so longed to believe might be the fact. She was not to expect him to be a lover such as are young men. Was she young herself, or would she like him better if he were to a.s.sume anything of youth in his manners? She understood that life with him was a serious thing, and that it was his duty to be serious and grave in what he did. It might be that it was essential to his character, after all that had pa.s.sed, that the question of the property should be settled finally, before he could come to her, and declare his wishes. Thus flattering herself, she put away from her her tears, and dressed herself, smoothing her hair, and was.h.i.+ng away the traces of her weeping; and then again she looked at herself in the gla.s.s to see if it were possible that she might be comely in his eyes.
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