"Of course he is free. Of course such a marriage never can take place now. It is quite out of the question. You say that it is all over, and you are quite right. Why not let this be settled in a friendly way between you and me, so that we might be friends again? I should be so glad to help you in your difficulties if you would agree with me about this." "I want no help." "Margaret, that is nonsense. In your position you are very wrong to set your natural friends at defiance. If you will only authorise me to say that you renounce this marriage--" "I will not renounce it," said Margaret, who was still standing up. "I will not renounce it. I would sooner lose my tongue than let it say such a word. You may tell him, if you choose to tell him anything, that I demand nothing from him; nothing. All that I once thought mine is now his, and I demand nothing from him. But when he asked me to be his wife he told me to be firm, and in that I will obey him. He may renounce me, and I shall have nothing with which to reproach him; but I will never renounce him--never." And then the modern Griselda, who had been thus galvanised into vitality, stood over her aunt in a mood that was almost triumphant. "Margaret, I am astonished at you," said Lady Ball, when she had recovered herself. "I can't help that, aunt." "And now let me tell you this. My son is, of course, old enough to do as he pleases. If he chooses to ruin himself and his children by marrying, anybody--even if it were out of the streets--I can't help it. Stop a moment and hear me to the end." This she said, as her niece had made a movement as though towards the door. "I say, even if it were out of the streets, I couldn't help it. But nothing shall induce me to live in the same house with him if he marries you. It will be on your conscience for ever that you have brought ruin on the whole family, and that will be your punishment. As for me, I shall take myself off to some solitude, and--there--I--shall--die." Then Lady Ball put her handkerchief up to her face and wept copiously. Margaret stood still, leaning upon the table, but she spoke no word, either in answer to the threat or to the tears. Her immediate object was to take herself out of the room, but this she did not know how to achieve. At last her aunt spoke again: "If you please, I will get you to ask your landlady to send for a cab." Then the cab was procured, and Buggins, who had come home for his dinner, handed her ladyship in. Not a word had been spoken during the time that the cab was being fetched, and when Lady Ball went down the passage, she merely said, "I wish you good-bye, Margaret." "Good-bye," said Margaret, and then she escaped to her own bedroom.