Margaret felt what was in her mother\"s thoughts,--a tender craving tobespeak the kindness of some woman towards the daughter that mightbe so soon left motherless. But she could not speak.
\"Do you think,\" said Mrs. Hale, after a pause, \"that you could go and askMrs. Thornton to come and see me? Only once,--I don\"t want to betroublesome.\"
\"I will do anything, if you wish it, mamma,--but if--but when Frederickcomes----\"
\"Ah, to be sure! we must keep our doors shut,--we must let no one in. Ihardly know whether I dare wish him to come or not. Sometimes I thinkI would rather not. Sometimes I have such frightful dreams about him.\"
\"Oh, mamma! we\"ll take good care. I will put my arm in the bolt soonerthan he should come to the slightest harm. Trust the care of him to me,mamma. I will watch over him like a lioness over her young.\"
\"When can we hear from him?\"
\"Not for a week yet, certainly,--perhaps more.\"
\"We must send Martha away in good time. It would never do to have herhere when he comes, and then send her off in a hurry.\"
\"Dixon is sure to remind us of that. I was thinking that, if we wanted anyhelp in the house while he is here, we could perhaps get Mary Higgins.
She is very slack of work, and is a good girl, and would take pains to doher best, I am sure, and would sleep at home, and need never comeupstairs, so as to know who is in the house.\"
\"As you please. As Dixon pleases. But, Margaret, don\"t get to use thesehorrid Milton words. \"Slack of work:\" it is a provincialism. What willyour aunt Shaw say, if she hears you use it on her return?\"
\"Oh, mamma! don\"t try and make a bugbear of aunt Shaw\" said
Margaret, laughing. \"Edith picked up all sorts of military slang fromCaptain Lennox, and aunt Shaw never took any notice of it.\"
\"But yours is factory slang.\"
\"And if I live in a factory town, I must speak factory language when Iwant it. Why, mamma, I could astonish you with a great many wordsyou never heard in your life. I don\"t believe you know what a knobstickis.\"
\"Not I, child. I only know it has a very vulgar sound and I don\"t want tohear you using it.\"
\"Very well, dearest mother, I won\"t. Only I shall have to use a wholeexplanatory sentence instead.\"
\"I don\"t like this Milton,\" said Mrs. Hale. \"Edith is right enough in sayingit\"s the smoke that has made me so ill.\"
Margaret started up as her mother said this. Her father had just enteredthe room, and she was most anxious that the faint impression she hadseen on his mind that the Milton air had injured her mother\"s health,should not be deepened,--should not receive any confirmation. Shecould not tell whether he had heard what Mrs. Hale had said or not; butshe began speaking hurriedly of other things, unaware that Mr.
Thornton was following him.
\"Mamma is accusing me of having picked up a great deal of vulgaritysince we came to Milton.\"
The \"vulgarity\" Margaret spoke of, referred purely to the use of localwords, and the expression arose out of the conversation they had justbeen holding. But Mr. Thornton\"s brow darkened; and Margaretsuddenly felt how her speech might be misunderstood by him; so, in thenatural sweet desire to avoid giving unnecessary pain, she forced herselfto go forwards with a little greeting, and continue what she was saying,addressing herself to him expressly.
\"Now, Mr. Thornton, though \"knobstick\" has not a very pretty sound, isit not expressive? Could I do without it, in speaking of the thing itrepresents? If using local words is vulgar, I was very vulgar in theForest,--was I not, mamma?\"
It was unusual with Margaret to obtrude her own subject ofconversation on others; but, in this case, she was so anxious to preventMr. Thornton from feeling annoyance at the words he had accidentallyoverheard, that it was not until she had done speaking that she colouredall over with consciousness, more especially as Mr. Thornton seemedhardly to understand the exact gist or bearing of what she was saying,but passed her by, with a cold reserve of ceremonious movement, tospeak to Mrs. Hale.
The sight of him reminded her of the wish to see his mother, andcommend Margaret to her care. Margaret, sitting in burning silence,
vexed and ashamed of her difficulty in keeping her right place, and hercalm unconsciousness of heart, when Mr. Thornton was by, heard hermother\"s slow entreaty that Mrs. Thornton would come and see her; seeher soon; to-morrow, if it were possible. Mr. Thornton promised thatshe should--conversed a little, and then took his leave; and Margaret\"smovements and voice seemed at once released from some invisiblechains. He never looked at her; and yet, the careful avoidance of hiseyes betokened that in some way he knew exactly where, if they fell bychance, they would rest on her. If she spoke, he gave no sign ofattention, and yet his next speech to any one else was modified by whatshe had said; sometimes there was an express answer to what she hadremarked, but given to another person as though unsuggested by her. Itwas not the bad manners of ignorance it was the wilful bad mannersarising from deep offence. It was wilful at the time, repented ofafterwards. But no deep plan, no careful cunning could have stood himin such good stead. Margaret thought about him more than she had everdone before; not with any tinge of what is called love, but with regretthat she had wounded him so deeply,--and with a gentle, patient strivingto return to their former position of antagonistic friendship; for afriend\"s position was what she found that he had held in her regard, aswell as in that of the rest of the family. There was a pretty humility inher behaviour to him, as if mutely apologising for the over-strong wordswhich were the reaction from the deeds of the day of the riot.
But he resented those words bitterly. They rung in his ears; and he wasproud of the sense of justice which made him go on in every kindnesshe could offer to her parents. He exulted in the power he showed incompelling himself to face her, whenever he could think of any actionwhich might give her father or mother pleasure. He thought that hedisliked seeing one who had mortified him so keenly; but he wasmistaken. It was a stinging pleasure to be in the room with her, and feelher presence. But he was no great analyser of his own motives, and wasmistaken as [ have said.