This was not to be endured. Margaret declared to herself that she could not live and bear it. Let the people around her say what they would, it could not be that he would treat her in this way if he intended to make her his wife. It would be better for her to make up her mind that it was not to be so, and to insist on leaving the Mackenzies' house. She would go, not again to Arundel Street, but to some lodging further away, in some furthest recess of London, where no one would come to her and flurry her with false hopes, and there remain till she might be allowed to earn her bread. That was the mood in which Mrs Mackenzie found her late in the afternoon on the day of Sir John Ball's visit. There was to be a dinner party in the house that evening, and Margaret began by asking leave to absent herself. "Nonsense, Margaret," said Mrs Mackenzie; "I won't have anything of the kind." "I cannot come down, Mrs Mackenzie; I cannot, indeed." "That is absolute nonsense. That man has been saying something unkind to you. Why do you mind what he says?" "He has not said anything unkind; he has not said anything at all." "Oh, that's the grief, is it?" "I don't know what you mean by grief; but if you were situated as I am you would perceive that you were in a false position." "I am sure he has been saying something unkind to you." Margaret hardly knew how to tell her thoughts and feelings, and yet she wished to tell them. She had resolved that she would tell the whole to Mrs Mackenzie, having convinced herself that she could not carry out her plan of leaving Cavendish Square without some explanation of the kind. She did not know how to make her speech with propriety, so she jumped at the difficulty boldly. "The truth is, Mrs Mackenzie, that he has no more idea of marrying me than he has of marrying you." "Margaret, how can you talk such nonsense?" "It is not nonsense; it is true; and it will be much better that it should all be understood at once. I have nothing to blame him for, nothing; and I don't blame him; but I cannot bear this kind of life any longer. It is killing me. What business have I to be living here in this way, when I have got nothing of my own, and have no one to depend on but myself?" "Then he must have said something to you; but, whatever it was, you cannot but have misunderstood him." "No; he has said nothing, and I have not misunderstood him." Then there was a pause. "He has said nothing to me, and I am bound to understand what that means." "Margaret, I want to put one question to you," said Mrs Mackenzie, speaking with a serious air that was very unusual with her,--"and you will understand, dear, that I only do so because of what you are saying now." "You may put any question you please to me," said Margaret. "Has your cousin ever asked you to be his wife, or has he not?" "Yes, he has. He has asked me twice." "And what answer did you make him?"