Margaret was cheered by this intelligence. She would have dreaded meeting him again, at least, for some time to come; and she was glad to find that she had been able to do some good by her advice. One morning, Mr. Warde begged Margaret to come into his library as he wished to speak to her on business. Blanche and Mr. Compton were playing at battledore and shuttlecock, and she was not sorry to escape from their noisy enjoyment for a few minutes. Mr. Warde then told her that he had made several inquiries for such a home as he thought might be agreeable to Margaret; that he had found it rather difficult to meet one in all respects satisfactory. But that he had just received a letter from his friend, Mr. Fletcher, that he thought was worth considering about. Mr. Fletcher, if she remembered, was the clergyman to whom he had applied when her uncle desired to take a house by the sea-side. Yes; Margaret recollected the name. She breathed short; one of those feelings called presentiments came over her. She knew perfectly what was coming. "It seems," continued Mr. Warde, glancing at the letter, "that a lady in his neighbourhood has lately lost an only daughter, and she has been strongly urged to receive an inmate into her house; she is much averse to a companion in the usual sense of the term, but upon Mr. Fletcher stating to her the sort of home I was anxious to obtain for you, she seemed willing to receive you. You know the neighbourhood, and you are fond of fine scenery, but I must warn you that this lady lives absolutely without society. She is very well connected, but she has retired from the world." The world--of which her short experience had been so bitter. That, indeed, was an inducement; and Aveline's mother--there was a sort of strange charm to her in the idea. "I think I should like it," she faltered. "This lady is a highly cultivated and intellectual woman," said Mr. Warde, "and I think you will appreciate the advantage of her conversation; no lessons are of such real benefit to a young person, as constant intercourse with a superior mind. And her principles are such as you know how to value and respect." "Let me go to her," said Margaret. "Can you make up your mind to solitude?" asked Mr. Warde. "Oh! yes--yes." "Then I will write to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and conclude the arrangement." "Is it possible?" exclaimed Blanche, when Margaret repeated to her what had been determined upon. "I wonder what my uncle thinks women are intended for; that is to say, pretty women. Of course, ugly women ought to be buried alive. But the idea of sending you into a wilderness like that. Oh! you like it? Don't tell me--I won't believe you; how are you to get married I should like to know?" "But I have no intention of marrying," said Margaret. "I intend to remain single." "You don't mean to--oh! I understand," returned Blanche. "A good many girls say so; but I always think it is better not, for fear the men should take you at your word."