Arthur blinked. "I— you— what?"

Margret didn't even bat an eye. "I think you know what I'm talking about, Sir Merryweather. I find it very hard to believe that you would detour from the rules of conduct, and yet the evidence is tucked safely in my drawer. The absolute filth I have received from you has made me completely disgusted with you. How can you write such a lie? Have you no conscience? I had hope for you, wanting to believe that in time I would not despise you completely, but instead, I grow more and more repulsed by your arrogance and self-importance."

He spluttered. "But, it wasn't a lie! I wrote that in complete honesty, and hoped you would understand!"

"You have lost what little trust I had put in you. I have nothing more to say than that I hope you will someday be treated as you have treated me. Good day, Sir Merryweather."

Sir Merryweather strode after her. "Wait, Margret!"

She turned on him, eyes flashing. "If you ever dare to call me by my Christian name again, I swear, I will tear your limbs from you body with my bare hands and hang your dismembered corpse in a public square for all to see. I said 'good day'."

Margret left him standing in the middle of the path, his eyes full of fear.

Mary was talking gaily with the other young gentleman, and Margret hated to interrupt, but she had a splitting headache and could not stand to stay in the same park with Sir Merryweather.

Mary, being the dear she was, immediately noticed the signs of agitation written all over her friend's face, and excused herself from the conversation. Margret thanked her and apologized profusely all the way back in the carriage they hailed. "I'm so terribly sorry, Mary. I could tell you two were having such a lovely time, and I had to butt in and ruin it. He seemed to like you tremendously— do you think you will see each other again?"

Mary nodded. "Yes, we're both to be in attendance at the ball tomorrow night. Speaking on the subject of balls, there's to be one held tonight. Do you think you will be coming?"

"Knowing my mother and Mrs. Jennings, I doubt I will have any choice otherwise."

She was quiet for a while, worrying Mary quite a bit. "Did your conversation with Sir Merryweather go that badly?"

Margret chuckled without mirth. "Even worse. I threatened him with bodily harm, but only after he had the audacity to use my Christian name. The rest of the conversation is something better left unmentioned, and would be close to mediocre gossip. I behaved rather impolitely, considering his status as a lord, but I'm so angry, Mary. At the moment I cannot even begin to consider forgiving him, though I know he is only human and therefore prone to human sins."

"You are human too, Margret. You cannot be a saint and a woman. You are entitled to your own moments of earthly sins, such as anger. You would not have your humanity without them, and have no reason to be hard upon yourself."

Margret groaned. "Oh, please, Mary. Do not attempt to console me, for I am past any hope of pleasure. Just let me wallow in regret and don't worry about me, for the moment will pass, indeed, almost too quickly."

Mary laughed. "Dear me, Margret, I do believe you have become quite the tragic heroine. The moment will pass, yes, but I'm quite sure it will return tonight at the ball when you see a certain repulsive lord."

Captain Margret sat bolt upright. "No! You don't think he will come tonight, do you? How stupid I am; of course he will be there. To the public eye nothing will have changed and he may go to balls as he pleases. We will both suffer in silent agony at the sight of each other."

Needless to say, Margret's prediction came true. The ball had a wonderfully light atmosphere, what with couples dancing and talking, often at the same time, and Miss Dashwood was the only silent guest in attendance. Mary danced with no less than seven gentlemen, including the young man from the park, Mr. Sourney. She laughed and talked merrily, but every once in while, she happened to glance at Margret and she would remember the pain her friend was suffering, gazing solemnly away from Sir Merryweather, whose own eyes followed her constantly.

Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings' only clue that Margret was under stress was that she remained melancholy for the entire evening, and even then they only guessed that she was tired from the morning's exercise in the park. She encouraged this notion by declining every offer to dance with an apologetic shake of her head and a quiet excuse. She had no inclination for merriment, and sat quiet as a mouse in a chair in the corner, observing, but not taking part in the goings on.

Sir Arthur, however, seemed perfectly at ease, conversing easily and enjoying himself. In reality, his mind was elsewhere, brooding over his situation involving Miss Dashwood and how he might redeem himself in her eyes. I will not keep from you the fact that Sir Arthur was quite a selfish being, and had not met any opposition before, least of all in a woman. He was used to having his way, and quite used to the lofty position life had put him in. In the past, a woman even slightly below his station was to be ignored, and only those in the way of power and fortune should be considered. I'm sorry to say, Sir Merryweather's proud mind had never encountered such problems as it did now, and he was quite overwhelmed at the thought of lowering himself to any solution that presented itself. He stewed and simmered for days on end after the ball, hardly coming to any decision.

Margret was hardly much better. She and Mary took walks everyday, talking together quietly. Their walks grew shorter and shorter each day, until, finally, they stepped out of Mrs. Jennings' house and decided to go back in.

Once inside they began to talk things over morosely. A knock on the door interrupted them, and Mathilde presented a messenger bearing a small envelope for Miss Dashwood. He left, and she opened it.

"Miss Dashwood, please accept my formal apology for the letter which seemed so offensive to you. I had no intention of causing such pain as it did for you. The words I penned were honest, though I fear I cannot convince you of such. Again, I apologize for my misconduct and the use of your familiar title. Regards, Sir Arthur Merryweather."

Mary looked at Margret in shock. "Whatever can he mean by this?"

Margret was just as shocked. "Mary, please go to my drawer and bring me the note and letter that lay there." When she had both, her hands shook.

Mary tried to comfort her. "Don't worry; he cannot hurt you with an apology, though it may be false."

Margret's eyes were wide. "Mary, this— these— the handwriting doesn't match!"

"What?"

"Someone else wrote the note and letter!"