"Ah!" said Mr. Haveloc, turning with a smile to Margaret, "and are you so very difficult then to persuade?" He was handing her into the carriage as he spoke; as she seated herself her face was directly before him, pale as a marble statue--dim--reproachful. "Spectre-smitten!" said Harriet as the carriage swept away, "what was the matter, Margaret?" "The--matter--" said Margaret, speaking with difficulty. "I am sure we will not let him off acting, after that start," continued Harriet. "Hamlet is nothing to him. I wonder which of us is so very horribly ugly," she continued, laughing, "depend upon it, the man has murdered somebody in his day." "Harriet! what horrid ideas you have," said Lucy, leaning back very comfortably, "the notion of poor Mr. Haveloc having murdered any one. Don't you think, Miss Capel, it is a beautiful church?" "Very," said Margaret. "She has a head-ache; don't talk to her," said Harriet, decidedly. Lady Raymond was shocked and concerned; and offered Margaret her vinaigrette and her Eau de Cologne, and reproached herself for undertaking so long a drive in the heat. Margaret tried to smile and thank her, and by the use of the flaçon to still the trembling of her nerves. "Oh! I see, Margaret," said Harriet, suddenly, "he took you for Miss Campbell, and when he was putting you into the carriage he found his mistake; that made him look so ébahi; but I should not have fancied him to be such a shy person." "Never was anybody less shy," said Lucy. "He did look thunderstruck, to be sure," said Harriet. "Margaret, why did you not speak to him before?" Margaret roused herself. "I believe I am shy Harriet," she said. "Do you think him handsome, Harriet?" asked Lucy playing with the fringe of her parasol. "Of course not," said Harriet, "he is as dark as a Moor." "I don't think that an objection," said Lucy. "I rather like that sort of expressive face. I fancy a painter would never be tired of watching him." "We must get him for Alphonse;" said Harriet musing, "he looks foreign; and he is graceful in his gestures. Then, if Margaret prefers Everard, what a chance for Miss Campbell. Lucy! Ah! stop the carriage! Thompson, a glass of water--there is a cottage--run--Miss Capel has fainted!" CHAPTER XII. _Org._ Time can never On the white table of unguilty faith Write counterfeit dishonour. FORD. "It was the heat, Harriet, indeed. Mrs. Fitzpatrick will tell you that I cannot bear hot weather," said Margaret earnestly. "Mrs. Fitzpatrick is not in the room, _ma mie_," said Harriet, taking a chair just opposite to Margaret. "I certainly never knew such a heroine as you are. Going down to dinner after an obstinate fainting fit; divinely dressed, and looking like a very pale angel. Now I have said a generous thing, because I see your white dress is more prettily made than mine; but I make a great exertion and forgive you." Margaret smiled.