The evening passed as usual; as they dined late, the serving of coffee and tea nearly took up the time until they separated. Mr. Warde talked kindly to Margaret about the books she was anxious to read, and Mr. Haveloc played a game of piquet with Mr. Grey. When she saw how very attentive he was to her dear uncle, she could not help wishing that he was less wicked, but as she remarked to herself, it was no business of hers. CHAPTER VI. The passions will dispense To such a wild and rapid eloquence, Will to the weakest mind their strength impart, And give the tongue the language of the heart. CRABBE. It was a very eventful day for Margaret on which Miss Gage and her brother were to dine at Ashdale, for it might actually be termed a party, and she was to preside at the head of the table. She took infinite pains with her toilet; chose her very prettiest silk, and allowed her maid as much time as she liked to dress her hair: instead of starting up, as she did on common occasions, after the first half-minute, wringing into a perfect cable the beautiful profusion of her tresses behind, and fastening them up with a comb to the great discomposure of her attendant. All the time the airy plaits were weaving, which were to form the pretty coiffure, designated as the _antique moderne_, Margaret was convincing herself that she was not taking all this trouble because Hubert Gage was coming. Nothing could be so unlikely, or so undignified; it was entirely on account of his sister Elizabeth. She was dressed so early, that she had plenty of time to spare. She thought she should like to play on the organ; but Land was busy, so was the footman, she dared not ask the coachman to blow: Mason would, she knew, be shocked at the idea; so she sent down to the gardener's boy, who spent the best part of his time in the kitchen, and he came up, shy and awkward enough, but very willing to do his best. Unfortunately, he occasionally left off blowing to listen with open mouth to her performance, thus causing a sudden stop that was very provoking to her. She was improving so nicely too--her little foot stole over the pedals with as much ease as her fingers over the notes; and when she was in the midst of a very pretty effect, that sharp cessation of sound quite destroyed her patience. "There, you naughty little boy," said she, "don't you see the wind is out? You must not do that again!" The little boy, who was a great deal bigger by the way than herself, _did_ do it again, and always in the most provoking places, though the moment she looked he began to blow with renewed vigour. "I declare," cried Margaret, stamping her foot on the pedals, and producing thereby an awful roar, "I will tell my Uncle Grey the very next time!" This was not a very formidable threat; but the boy pleaded that she did play so beautiful he could not help it; and she forgot her anger.