he glass, and told
herself that she was old and ugly, and fitted only for that hospital
nursing of which she had been thinking. But still there was something
about her heart that bore her up. Lady Ball would not have come to
her, would not have exercised her eloquence upon her, would not have
called upon her to renounce this engagement, had she not found all
similar attempts upon her own son to be ineffectual. Could it then
be so, that, after all, her cousin would be true to her? If it were
so, if it could be so, what would she not do for him and for his
children? If it were so, how blessed would have been all these
troubles that had brought her to such a haven at last! Then she tried
to reconcile his coldness to her with that which she so longed to
believe might be the fact. She was not to expect him to be a lover
such as are young men. Was she young herself, or would she like him
better if he were to assume anything of youth in his manners? She
understood that life with him was a serious thing, and that it was
his duty to be serious and grave in what he did. It might be that it
was essential to his character, after all that had passed, that the
question of the property should be settled finally, before he could
come to her, and declare his wishes. Thus flattering herself, she put
away from her her tears, and dressed herself, smoothing her hair, and
washing away the traces of her weeping; and then again she looked at
herself in the glass to see if it were possible that she might be
comely in his eyes.

The months of January and February slowly wore themselves away, and
during the whole of that time Margaret saw her cousin but once, and
then she met him at Mr Slow's chambers. She had gone there to sign
some document, and there she had found him. She had then been told
that she would certainly lose her cause. No one who had looked into
the matter had any doubt of that. It certainly was the case that
Jonathan Ball had bequeathed property which was not his at the
time he made the will, but which at the time of his death, in fact,
absolutely belonged to his nephew, John Ball. Old Mr Slow, as he
explained this now for the seventh or eighth time, did it without a
tone of regret in his voice, or a sign of sorrow in his eye. Margaret
had become so used to the story now, that it excited no strong
feelings within her. Her wish, she said, was, that the matter should
be settled. The lawyer, with almost a smile on his face, but sti