and brought back,
when Barton called. Nor was Barton himself such good company as he had
been. His manner was uncertain and constrained; his visits began to be
paid at longer intervals; he seemed to have little to say, or talked in
fits and starts; and yet he did not know how to go away.

Persons much less clear-sighted than Mrs. St John Deloraine could have
interpreted, without difficulty, this awkward position of affairs.

Now, like most women of her kindly and impulsive character (when it has
not been refined away into nothing by social hypocrisies), Mrs. St. John
Deloraine was a perfectly reckless match-maker. She believed in love
with her whole heart; it was a joy to her to mark the beginnings
of inclination in two young souls, and she simply revelled in an
"engagement." All considerations of economy, prudence, and foresight
melted away before the ardor of her enthusiasm: to fall in love first,
to get engaged next, and to be married as soon as possible afterward,
without regard to consequences of any kind, were, in this lady's mind,
heroic actions, and almost the whole duty of men and women.

In her position, and with her opportunities, she soon knew all that was
to be known about Margaret's affections, and also about Barton's.

"He's as much in love with you as a man can be, my dear," she said to
Margaret "Not worthy of him? Your past a barrier between you and him?
Nonsense, Daisy; that is _his_ affair. I know you are as good a girl
as ever lived. Your father was poor, no doubt, and that wretched Mr.
Cranley--yes, he was a wretch--had a spite against you. I don't know
why, and you won't help me to guess. But Mr. Barton is too much of a
man to let that kind of thing disturb him, I'm sure. You are afraid of
something, Margaret Your nerves have been unstrung. I'm sure I don't
wonder at it. I know what it is to lose one's nerve. I could no
more drive now, as I used to do, or go at the fences I used to think
_nothing_ of! But once you are married to a man like Mr. Barton, who
is there can frighten you? And as to being poor," and Mrs. St. John
Deloraine explained her generous views as to arrangements on her part,
which would leave Margaret far from portionless.

Then Margaret would cry a little, and lay her head on her friend's
shoulder, and the friend would shed some natural tears for company; and
they would have tea, and Barton would call, and look a great deal at his
boots, and fidget with his hat.

"I've no pa