Sir Giles was as much delighted to be free of his visitor as he had been to welcome him to Greyshott. And it was evident that he was conforming his mind to the new state of affairs. Gerald had meant to appeal to his kindness for Margaret, but he had not patience or self-command enough to say anything. He had no thought of the anxieties that dwelt in the old mans mind the dreariness of his conclusion that it was better his old wife was gone: the forlorn endurance of a state of affairs which he had no power to prevent. A little more sympathy might have made Sir Giles endurance take a tragic aspect, the last refuge of a sanguine and simple spirit trying to be content with the hope that something might still be made of his only child. But Gerald Piercey only thought with mingled contempt and pity of the facile mind, and the drivel of old age, things entirely beyond his sympathy or thoughts.
He had an interview of a more interesting kind with Margaret before he went away. I wish you could leave as easily as I do, he said.
So do I but that would be impossible in any case. I have Osy to think of. I must not allow myself to be carried away by any sudden impulse even if it were for nothing else, for my poor old uncles sake. He is fond of Osy. It might chill his poor old clouded life still more to miss the child.
Oh, Uncle Giles! I think you may make your mind easy on that point. Its age, I suppose, and illness. One thing is just as good as another to him.
I am not quite of your opinion, she said.
I think you are never quite of any ones opinion except your own, he retorted, quickly.
Well, thats best for me, dont you think? she replied, with something of the same flash of spirit, seeing that I have, as people say, nobody to think of but myself.
And the boy? Meg, you have promised me that you will think of what I said about the boy. He should want for nothing. He should have all the advantages education could give, if you would trust him to me or to my father, if that would give you more confidence.
It is not confidence that is wanting, she said.
Then, what is it? It cannot be that you think I speak without warrant. My father will write to you. I will pledge myself to you as if he were my very own. His future should be my care; his education, his outset in the world
Margaret stood looking at him for some time in silence, a faint smile about her lips, which began to quiver, the colour forsaking her cheeks. What she said was so perfectly irrelevant, so idiotic, to the straight-forward mind of the man who was offering her the most unquestionable advantage, and asking nothing but a direct answer yes, or no that he could almost have struck her in his impatience. He did metaphorically, with the severity of that flash in his eyes.
What do you mean? he cried; is it I that am the fiend, offering the best I can think of?
Oh, the angel, said Margaret; and is it my own heart that is the fiend, that makes the other picture? Oh, God help me! I dont know. My child is my life. But there are things better than life, and that might be given up. Yet, he is my duty, too, and not yours, Gerald. Prosperity and comfort, and your great warm-hearted, honourable kindness; or poverty and nature, and a poor mother and love? Which would be the best for him? We cannot
see a step before us; and the issues are of life and death.
It is better not to exaggerate, he said, with an almost angry impatience. There need be no cutting off. You should, of course, see the child when you liked, for his holidays and that sort of thing. Theres no question of life or death, but of a mans career for the boy, under mens influence, or I know, I know! You would teach him everything that is good, and put the best principles into him, and sacrifice yourself, and all that. In short, you would make a perfect woman of him, had Osy been a girl; but, as he is a boy !
Dont you think youre a little sharp, Gerald, she cried, bidding me cut out my heart and give it you, and showing me all the advantages! She laughed, with her lips quivering, holding her hands clasped, fiercely determined, whatever she did, not to cry, which is a womans weakness.
Meg, you are a sensible woman: not a girl, to know no better.
This was his honest thought: a girl, young and tender, is to be spared, though her youth has the elasticity of a flower, and springs up again to-morrow; but the woman who has passed that chapter, whose first susceptibilities are over, is a different matter. He was honestly bewildered when Margaret left him hurriedly with a choked Thank you. Good-bye. I shall write; and thus broke off the conversation, leaving him there astonished in the hall, with his coat over his arm, and his travelling bag in his hand: for this was how they had held their last consultation, the library and dining-room being both full of Patty, whose presence seemed to occupy the whole house, and who now came forth, with all the airs of the mistress of the house, to take leave of her guest.