"Fairly well off," she answered, with a gleam in her blue eyes. "That
doesn't matter in the least," she went on, in an off-hand manner. "But I
can't play with my child's happiness, George, and I love the boy and
want him for my own."
"All right, my dear, all right," he said, and, seeing it was expected of
him, he took both her hands in his. "It's always better not to interfere
with young people." And so Mrs. Lakeman was satisfied. But Sir George
walked away with an uneasy feeling at the back of his head. "I wonder if
Hilda Lakeman was lying," he said to himself. "I never understand her,
and for the life of me I can never quite believe in her. She is
tricky--tricky."
He saw Mr. Garratt at Haslemere station waiting for the Guildford train.
"I should like to punch his head," he thought, but this desire, of
course, made no difference in any way.
Meanwhile matters had not improved at Woodside Farm. A fierce jealousy
was raging in Hannah's virgin heart; she found it difficult even to keep
her hands off Margaret. "I should like to box your ears and lock you up
in your room," she remarked, spitefully, when she could no longer
control herself.
"Hannah, for shame!" Mrs. Vincent said, but even her efforts to keep the
peace seemed somewhat futile.
"It's a pity you didn't go to Australia with your father," Hannah went
on. "You are only in the way here."
"Oh, if he had but taken me!" Margaret answered, fervently.
"Perhaps he didn't want you. We've only his word for it there is this
brother in Australia--and what is that worth, I should like to know?"
Mrs. Vincent looked up quickly from her seat in the porch. "I'll have
you speak with respect of the man who is my husband," she said, gently.
"And shame to you, mother, that he is. He has undermined your faith, and
made you forget your first husband's child."
"Hannah, you will be silent," Mrs. Vincent answered, with some of her
old dignity. "We have each kept to our own way of thinking, and neither
has meddled with the other. And I have never forgotten your father, nor
what was due to him; but one has to make the best of life, and I was a
young woman when he died."
Something in her voice touched Hannah. "I know that, mother," she said,
"and I've tried to be a good daughter to you, and if sometimes I've
thought I didn't get my share of what you felt, why it's only natural
that I should complain. What's come between us and is trying to come
between me and what is due to me, is the artfulness that has got no
principle to build upon."
"If I could only get away! If Mrs. Lakeman would ask me to stay with
her, or if only I were like Miss Hunstan, and could act and live by
myself till father comes back," Margaret said to herself, till the idea
took deeper and deeper hold upon her.
Why shouldn't she? All things have a beginning, all journeys a
starting-point. Mr. Garratt had told her how Miss Hunstan had begun by
holding up the train of a princess, and how step by step she had reached
her present position. She wished she could see Miss Hunstan. They had
only met once, and for a few minutes, but she had told Margaret that she
would like to see her again, and, as Tom had said, some people were
never strangers. She longed to go to London and ask her advice, and she
didn't think her father would be angry or object if he knew all that was
going on at Woodside Farm. He saw no harm in theatres, and she was not
sophisticated enough to understand the difficulties in the way of a girl
who was not yet twenty, going to London with a vague idea that she could
"walk on." But for the unfortunate meeting with Mr. Garratt she might
have consulted Sir George Stringer. She had hoped that he would come
again, but day after day went by without a sign of him. Half a dozen
times she went towards his house, wondering if she dared go up to the
door and boldly ask for him, and half a dozen times her courage failed
her.
"If he doesn't come to-morrow, I'll make myself go to him," Margaret
said, when nearly a fortnight had gone and he had not appeared; but
again she hesitated. Tom Carringford might be there, and she was afraid
to meet him, lest he should have heard of Mr. Garratt and be different.
Then a note arrived from Sir George. He was going back to London, was
starting when he wrote, and regretted that he had not been able to get
to the farm again; he hoped to do so later. And so all hope in that
direction vanished. She talked to her mother one day, but nothing was
gained by it.
"You couldn't go to London by yourself, Margey," Mrs. Vincent said. "I
was never strict in my heart as James Barton was, or as Hannah is, but I
shouldn't like you to take a step of that sort out into the world
without your father's approval."
"But, mother dear, every one has a life to live, and what is the use of
me here? Hannah does all the farm business, and there's nothing that you
want me to do. I just read and think and wait, and I don't know for
what, unless it's for father's return."
"It's a feeling that comes to us all," Mrs. Vincent answered. "It's the
fluttering of the bird trying to leave its nest. Better wait till your
father comes and sets you on your way." Then Mrs. Vincent shut her
lips--those beautiful, curved lips of hers--and said no more. All her
thoughts were with the man in Australia, the man younger than herself,
at whom her heart clutched, and all her hours were passed in a dream
beside him till she had no energy left for the actual life about her,
but let it slip by unheeded.