On Tuesday morning, after the exertion and excitement of the ball,
Margaret’s need for fresh air and quiet exercise was excessive. She
could not remain within doors, and, once out, she must get to the
uplands. She could not be kept for ever from her favourite walk, she
argued. In all probability her acquaintance had left the neighbourhood.
At first, when she gained the heights, she thought this must indeed
be the case, for she could not see him anywhere. He was lying on the
grass not far away. He rose at once and came towards her with reproach
in his eyes. Where had she been? He had come here each morning during
her absence. She found herself under the necessity of excusing herself
for not having joined a stranger on his morning walk. Her excuses were
accepted, or at least listened to, and they were off again across the
downs. Delightful companionship! Delightful converse! Hot rooms and
silly jests seemed far away in this place of open sky and distant
prospects.
It was a happy morning and ended, as before, with the parting where
they had first met. No promise was made of coming again, but Margaret
felt that was understood and, though wondering at herself as she ran
down the slope, she knew that she did not mean to fail him.
Now was the time when Mrs. Dashwood must be informed. It would not be
right to keep her longer in ignorance. Margaret resolved to tell her
mother, and perhaps she could arrange that they should meet. He would
come to the Cottage. She was full of virtuous resolves, the performance
of which she must, however, postpone, for as she opened the parlour
door she heard the high-pitched laughter of Mrs. Palmer, and saw that
she and her husband were sitting with Mrs. Dashwood.
Mrs. Palmer was Mrs. Jennings’s younger daughter, and consequently Lady
Middleton’s sister. Except that both had been admired as beauties,
there was no resemblance between the sisters. Lady Middleton seldom
spoke more than was necessary, and Mrs. Palmer never stopped talking
and laughing when in company. She had been married very young, and,
if her husband seemed a little tired of his wife’s conversation and
laughter, it was no more than other people felt with less cause. She
had her mother’s great gift of good humour, and was really very pretty.
On the whole, Margaret preferred her to her chilly sister and was
usually not averse to her company. To-day she did not want anyone, and
it was an effort to retain her composure.
“My dear Miss Margaret! How glad I am we have not missed you! It would
have been shocking, and Mr. Palmer would have been so concerned, and so
should I. Wouldn’t you, my love? Wouldn’t you have felt it detestable
if we had not seen Miss Margaret?”
Mr. Palmer turned over his newspaper.
“He is so droll. He always pretends he does not hear me, but he hears
very well, I know, and he would have been shockingly disappointed if
you were not come in. You will wonder why we are come to Barton, though
indeed we should have been long since. I have asked and asked Mr.
Palmer to bring me, but he would not--always some excuse--until the
day before yesterday he comes into my room, and he says, ‘Charlotte,
will you come with me to see your mother?’ ‘La, my love,’ says I,
‘you do not mean it.’ And then it all came out. There is a Commander
Pennington, an old friend of his, staying here. They were at school
together, and he is bent on seeing him again. I knew it was not my
mother he wanted to see, for they quarrel whenever they meet, though
I believe they like each other very well all the same. Well, we only
arrived this morning, and we are to go on to London to-morrow, so
there is no time to lose. Mr. Palmer has been to see this Commander,
but he was out walking. However, we have left a note asking him to
dine up at the Park. Will you not come too, my dear? Mr. Palmer will
be so delighted if you are one of the party, for you are a prodigious
favourite of his. My love, do help me to persuade Miss Margaret to dine
at the Park this afternoon.”
“I cannot persuade her if she has not been asked, can I?” was the only
encouragement Mr. Palmer gave.
“La, my love, you know Sir John would ask her at once, and my sister
would not mind whether she came or not. You leave all that to me,” with
a burst of merriment.
Margaret excused herself from accepting this second-hand invitation on
the score that she had been at the Park the day before and, though Mrs.
Palmer laughed excessively at such a reason, she was obliged to accept
it.
“Have you heard anything of the Commander?” asked Mrs. Palmer.
Margaret admitted that she had heard that he was staying in the
neighbourhood, and Mrs. Dashwood added that she believed he had
travelled with Miss Nancy Steele.
“La, yes, indeed! We have heard all about that,” Mrs. Palmer agreed
contemptuously, laughing at the recollection.
Mr. Palmer laid aside his paper and got up to take leave. His wife was
obliged to do as he did, and at last they were gone.
Margaret went to her room to think the situation out. Soon they must
meet at the Park. If it were known that they had met before, who
could tell what would be said? More than she could bear to listen
to! Her mother ought to know of their acquaintance--of that she was
convinced--but it would be easier to tell her later, when Commander
Pennington was known to her, and when his quiet deference should have
assured her that he had taken no liberty beyond what was natural and
right.
Margaret decided, though with an uneasy conscience, to postpone talking
to her mother for the present. This was made easier by Mrs. Dashwood
retiring to her chamber with a headache, and she herself passed the
evening with no company but the firelight and her own thoughts. Happy
thoughts and restless thoughts, that ranged from the open down to the
dining-room where they were all collected at the Park! Would he hear
that she had been invited and had refused to give him the meeting?
Would this anger him, or would he, as she thought, understand? In any
case, she could hardly have accepted so careless an invitation. She
did not want to meet him there, under the fire of comment, but it was
inevitable in the next few days. She longed for the happy insensibility
of Marianne and Willoughby, who had never seemed to notice what anyone
said, but only what they said to each other. She recollected herself.
She was going too fast. She had met the Commander only three times.
Marianne and Willoughby had been constantly in each other’s society.
She must not, would not, imagine so much when so little had occurred.
She took up a book and endeavoured to read. She opened the instrument
and played, until she remembered her mother suffering in the room
above. She returned to her seat by the fire and became again a prey to
restless thoughts.
Tea came in, and she took a cup to her mother. As she descended the
staircase there was a knock at the door and, there being no time to
return to the parlour, she waited where she was while Thomas opened the
door.
“Mrs. Dashwood is unwell, sir. She cannot receive visitors. Miss
Margaret, sir? Step in, sir, and I will inquire.”
Margaret came down the stairs, greeted the Commander and led him into
the parlour.
He had come, he said, to say good-bye. A post had arrived for him,
and he had got employment. He was to be in the “Wren,” a sloop of war
cruising in the Baltic, convoying, for the next six months. He had
been dining at the Park, and was walking back to the farm. He could
not resist coming. He would not intrude, but must leave early on the
morrow, so took this opportunity----
He kept his eyes on her face anxiously, but Margaret’s habit of
composure concealed her feelings, and he could not know what she
suffered.
Thomas had told Mrs. Thomas, and Mrs. Thomas thought it her duty to
inform her mistress that a strange gentleman had called to see Miss
Margaret. Maternal feelings would no doubt have got Mrs. Dashwood off
her bed even if curiosity had failed to do so. She occupied only a few
minutes in arranging her dress, and came down to find her daughter and
a strange man standing by the fire together. He was holding her hand,
and it seemed not unlikely that more might follow.