Margaret came home from a visit to Bessy to find two letters on the table. One was covered in foreign postmarks, and upon examining the direction, she recognized her Aunt Shaw's hand. Both were addressed to her mother, so she took them up with her.
"Mama, these notes have arrived for you. You must tell me all Aunt Shaw says about Italy. I am curious to know about the sights she has seen."
Mrs. Hale took the letters with a languid hand, asking, "Were you visiting that poor girl again, Margaret?" An air of disapproval was in her voice, but Margaret paid it no heed.
"Yes, and I also visited a neighboring family of hers, the Bouchers. They are in far worse condition and I wanted to see if there was any little I could do for them."
"You take too much upon yourself. I am not sure it can be quite right to parade into these people's homes as you do."
"Nonsense, Mama. It is no less proper than it was to visit and help the needy parishioners in Helstone. And these Milton families suffer so; I would not be happy ignoring their want while I live so comfortably. Truly, Mama, I want to be of service to them. Mrs. Boucher is herself not well, and I wanted to see the children." She did not go on, unwilling as she was to distress her mother further. She was sure Mrs. Hale would not enjoy hearing about the horrid conditions Margaret had seen. The Higgins' small home was very humble, but their style of living seemed palatial in comparison to the poor Bouchers.
"Well, you will do what you think is right, I suppose. Only I hope you do not make yourself ill by traipsing in and out wherever you please, Margaret."
"I will not, Mama," said in as meek and submissive a tone as she could muster. "Will you read me Aunt Shaw's letter?"
After going over the finer points of her sister's letter about Naples and the oppressive heat to be experienced there, Mrs. Hale opened the second note to discover it was an invitation to the dinner party that Mr. Thornton had hinted at. She had quite grasped on to the idea since he had mentioned it, and was very pleased to have confirmation that her family was given such an attention. There was but one fly in the ointment.
"I'm sure, Margaret, that I am not well enough to attend such an event. I do not trust my strength leaving the house, you know, and I'm sure a crowd would only upset me."
Distressed by this topic, Margaret was quick to say, "If you do not go, I certainly cannot leave you behind." And after she had assured Mr. Thornton she would come! She fought to overcome any feeling of disappointment with the reminder of her duty to her mother.
But Mrs. Hale was adamant. "No, no, Margaret, you and your father must go! It is surely something to be invited by the Thorntons, and you must accept, even if I cannot. You must go and remember everything you see so I may know what is done for such parties in Milton. And of course we must decide on something for you to wear. It will be quite the occasion, and you will go."
Margaret was tempted to make another objection, but her mother had assumed a determined look in her eye that was quite unheard of for her, so Margaret acquiesced to the order. She was unsure of her enjoyment of such a party among so many people she did not know, but for her mother's sake she would try to bear it.
Mrs. Hale soon rang for Dixon, upon whose entrance she said, "Pray, Dixon, please ask Mr. Thornton when he is done with his lesson to come up. I wish to speak to him."
Margaret looked up from her work at the name. Was Mr. Thornton here? She had quite forgotten it was his usual day for lessons, as she rarely saw him on such days. But he was here and she would soon see him. She found it hard to concentrate on her work for some unexplainable reason until she heard his step on the stairs and Dixon's voice requesting him to come up. Her father had another pupil waiting to begin his lesson, so Mr. Thornton came up alone.
"Good day, Mrs. Hale. Miss Hale," he looked to each of them with a bow. She said nothing, but nodded her head at him. "I understand you wanted to speak to me?"
"Yes, Mr. Thornton, please sit a moment if you can spare the time," Mrs. Hale invited him to take a chair nearby. He sat directly. "We have just received your mother's note, and I wanted to thank you for the civility and honor of the attention. I myself will not be able to attend, but I will send Mr. Hale and Margaret in my place, and I'm sure they will be delighted by the evening."
He glanced at Margaret when Mrs. Hale refused on her own behalf, reading in her veiled eyes Mrs. Hale's reasons for refusal. But he turned back to Mrs. Hale quickly and replied, "I am sorry we will not be graced by your presence, ma'am. I will tell my mother of your regrets, and I can assure you she will understand."
"Yes, well, it will still be a pleasant evening for you," Mrs. Hale was eager to gloss over any explanation of why she would not come, blissfully unaware that Mr. Thornton was in the secret. "I was telling Margaret we must choose something for her to wear. She has had no occasion to wear any finery since her cousin's wedding last year, and will be happy for the chance."
Margaret, self-conscious of the way she was introduced to the conversation, spoke quickly, "Mama, I am not a doll to be dressed up. I have done very well without such occasions for finery."
"Yes, but I was not able to see you at Edith's wedding, and I can look forward to seeing you in such attire for this party, at least."
"Miss Hale always looks so well in whatever she wears, that I cannot imagine how she can better her appearance." Mr. Thornton spoke surely, but at Margaret's rapid turn of the head toward him, he just as quickly dropped his gaze to the floor.
He had just complimented her! It was so unexpected and out of character that Margaret took great trouble to conceal her surprise at such a statement. She was grateful that her mother took the compliment as a matter of course and went on talking, because she was sure she would lose any composure if she tried to speak. It was not only the compliment that took her aback, but the betrayal of his own embarrassment as he had refused to meet her eyes after speaking. What could such behavior mean? She shook herself out of her wonderings and tried to attend once more to what her mother was saying.
". . . and what decorations your mother provides. It has been some time since I myself attended a dinner party, so I hardly know how things are done nowadays. I hope that Margaret is an attentive guest, for I will want to know much about it."
"I will do my best, Mama," she managed. Mr. Thornton was still averting his eyes to her, but at least he had lifted his head again to face her mother. Perhaps he did not want to draw undue attention from Mrs. Hale to what he had said.
There was a lull in the conversation that was exceptionally awkward for two of the three people occupying the drawing room, but the third still had not seemed to notice it. In fact, Hrs. Hale, after a slight pause, drew herself slowly to her feet and said, "If you will excuse me, Mr. Thornton, I must speak to Dixon. Margaret, you may see Mr. Thornton out when he is ready to leave." Without another word, she was gone, leaving her astonished daughter completely at a loss for words.
There was some further silence as they still dared not look at each other, and Margaret wondered why he did not stand and take his leave. He had no reason to stay, after all. The longer he did not speak, the more determined she became to remain silent. If she did not encourage him to talk, he must leave. And if he left, she could try to make sense of what had just occurred. But he would not leave!
He cleared his throat, but instead of offering a farewell, he asked, "Why did your mother not see you before? I mean, in your finery, as she calls it?"
Distantly she replied, "My mother was in Helstone and was not able to come to London for Edith's wedding."
She rather thought her succinct answer would deter him, but he caught on to a part of her reply. "London? It appears you were there often. You mentioned having been there for the Exhibition with your aunt."
"Yes. I was living with her until Edith married. I lived in Helstone as a girl, but my mother desired me to gain some refinement in my formative years, so my aunt took me in when I was nine. I still visited Helstone, but London was my home for many years." As she explained this part of her history, she could feel some of the tension leaving the air.
"I had not known that, although it does explain why you were able to be dragged to a play three times by your cousin." This dissipated any remaining discomfort as they both smiled at his joking allusion.
"Yes, the entertainment to be offered in Helstone is not nearly as varied as London."
"Did you miss that when you returned there?" He had assumed his usual stance with his elbows on his knees as he spoke, and Margaret took this as a sign that he was by no means inclined to cut their conversation short. She was beginning to lessen her own surprise at being no more inclined, herself.
"At times, perhaps. But the two places were so different that I rarely thought about what I was missing. The way I spent my time was very different, but no less worthy in either place. Of course, it was a much quieter life in Helstone, but more peaceful, and I daresay sometimes more happy. I had so little time to be with my parents that I was grateful for all the quiet evenings we spent together."
"So you were unhappy at times in London?"
"When I first arrived, certainly. I was a small girl being sent away from her family, so I hated it at first. But although I always missed my parents, the pain lessened and I learned to like and even love London. If you live in a place long enough, you are sure to find something you like."
"Have you found anything in Milton to like, Miss Hale?" The question itself was innocuous enough, but the sudden change in his manner gave it an intensity that caused her breath to hitch in her throat. His voice was soft and his eyes had darkened. She felt herself caught again in his penetrating stare, unable and almost unwilling to look away. There was that something in his look that brought on the familiar pressure on her chest, as she tried to decipher his meaning. For surely there was another question unspoken that he was trying to impress upon her, but she could not make it out. The hope that no one would walk in seized her, but the instant she realized this hope, she made herself turn away. That look, the feeling it stirred in her, though she could not name it, could hardly be proper. She forced herself to speak.
"Yes, I believe I have found something to like here." She must purge the shaky tremor from her voice; she must! "I have found friends in unexpected places. My friend Bessy, for instance," her voice calmed and became stronger. "She lives in Frances Street, and I am grateful for an opportunity to do any good I can for her and her neighbors."
"Frances Street." His brow furrowed. "In the Princeton district, you mean?" His eyes remained dark, but there was a hint of menace surfacing in his voice. "I'm surprised you keep such company."
"Bessy is my friend," she repeated heatedly, already tired of her mother's disapproval. She did not need to defend her choice in friends to Mr. Thornton, as well. "And she has neighbors in great need. Any help I give them is no different from anything I did for the needy in Helstone, helping my father's parishioners." Despite herself, she was growing defensive under his now-intruding stare.
"And what kind of help do you give them?" he questioned rather forcefully.
"Anything I am able. It is not wrong to give kindness to others, Mr. Thornton, at least as far as I am aware," she said hotly.
"No doubt you know, Miss Hale," he responded in a cold tone, "that these people you show a 'kindness' for are those who have turned out, who refuse to work and provide for their families?"
"They have reason for their actions!"
His voice rose to match hers. "And they will be defeated! Giving them such charity only prolongs their suffering; they go on fighting with such help as you offer, but it lengthens the strike and gives them a false hope that they can win!"
"And who says they may not?"
He stood quickly. He kept silent, but anyone could see the cold fury that took hold of his features. His movement was so sudden, Margaret sat back as though he had slapped her. What had changed to make this happen? How had their talk elevated so quickly into an argument? One moment they had sat in awkward silence, another moment happy recollections, and now this sudden and confusing anger? But she could not back away from what she believed was right, so her own wrath would not abate, no matter her dismay at such a turn.
When he spoke again, his voice had quieted, but he struggled to keep it steady. "It is clear that you will insist on giving your sympathies to others without attempting to understand my position. If this is to always be the case between us, it is better if such subjects are avoided. If you will excuse me, I do have business to attend to, despite the efforts of your friends. Good day, Miss Hale."
With these words he walked out of the room, leaving Margaret feeling bereft and cold.