as at one time really in
danger of becoming Mrs Rubb,--that in her ignorance of the world, in
the dark gropings of her social philosophy, amidst the difficulties
of her solitude, she had not known whether she could do better with
herself and her future years, than give herself, and them, and her
money to Mr Samuel Rubb, I tremble as I look back upon her danger. It
has been said of women that they have an insane desire for matrimony.
I believe that the desire, even if it be as general as is here
described, is no insanity. But when I see such a woman as Margaret
Mackenzie in danger from such a man as Samuel Rubb, junior, I am
driven to fear that there may sometimes be a maniacal tendency. But
Samuel Rubb was by no means a bad man. He first hankered after the
woman's money, but afterwards he had loved the woman; and my female
reader, if she agrees with me, will feel that that virtue covers a
multitude of sins.

And he was true to the promise that he made about the loan. He did
pay the interest of the money regularly to Mrs Mackenzie in Gower
Street, and after a while was known in that house as the recognised
lover of Mary Jane, the eldest daughter. It this way it came to pass
that he occasionally saw the lady to whose hand he had aspired; for
Margaret, when she was assured that Mr Maguire and his bride were
never likely to be seen in that locality, did not desert her nephews
and nieces in Gower Street.

But we must go back to Sir John Ball. As soon as the coast was clear
in Cavendish Square, he took his leave of Margaret. Mrs Mackenzie had
left the room, desiring to speak a word to him alone as he came down.

"I shall tell my mother to-night," he said to Margaret. "You know
that all this is not exactly as she wishes it."

"John," she said, "if it is as you wish it, I have no right to think
of anything beyond that."

"It is as I wish it," said he.

"Then tell my aunt, with my love, that I shall hope that she will
receive me as her daughter."

Then they parted, and Margaret was left alone to congratulate herself
over her success.

"Sir John," said Mrs Mackenzie, calling him into the drawing-room;
"you must hear my congratulations; you must, indeed."

"Thank you," said he, looking foolish; "you are very good."

"And so is she. She is what you may really call good. She is as good
as gold. I know a woman when I see her; and I know that for one like
her there are fifty not fit to hold a candle to her. She has nothin