‘What were you laughing at, Margaret?’ asked she, as soon as she had recovered from the exertion of settling herself on the sofa.

’A letter I have had this morning from Edith.  Shall I read it you, mamma?’

She read it aloud, and for a time it seemed to interest her mother, who kept wondering what name Edith had given to her boy, and suggesting all probable names, and all possible reasons why each and all of these names should be given.  Into the very midst of these wonders Mr. Thornton came, bringing another offering of fruit for Mrs. Hale.  He could not—­say rather, he would not—­deny himself the chance of the pleasure of seeing Margaret.  He had no end in this but the present gratification.  It was the sturdy wilfulness of a man usually most reasonable and self-controlled.  He entered the room, taking in at a glance the fact of Margaret’s presence; but after the first cold distant bow, he never seemed to let his eyes fall on her again.  He only stayed to present his peaches—­to speak some gentle kindly words—­and then his cold offended eyes met Margaret’s with a grave farewell, as he left the room.  She sat down silent and pale.

’Do you know, Margaret, I really begin quite to like Mr. Thornton.’

No answer at first.  Then Margaret forced out an icy ‘Do you?’

’Yes!  I think he is really getting quite polished in his manners.’

Margaret’s voice was more in order now.  She replied,

‘He is very kind and attentive,—­there is no doubt of that.’

’I wonder Mrs. Thornton never calls.  She must know I am ill, because of the water-bed.’

‘I dare say, she hears how you are from her son.’

’Still, I should like to see her You have so few friends here, Margaret.’

Margaret felt what was in her mother’s thoughts,—­a tender craving to bespeak the kindness of some woman towards the daughter that might be so soon left motherless.  But she could not speak.

‘Do you think,’ said Mrs. Hale, after a pause, ’that you could go and ask Mrs. Thornton to come and see me?  Only once,—­I don’t want to be troublesome.’

’I will do anything, if you wish it, mamma,—­but if—­but when Frederick comes——­’

’Ah, to be sure! we must keep our doors shut,—­we must let no one in.  I hardly know whether I dare wish him to come or not.  Sometimes I think I 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 sooner than 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 her here 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 any help 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 do her best, I am sure, and would sleep at home, and need never come upstairs, so as to know who is in the house.’