"Not about my marriage, Grace; wrong as it was, it brought its own retribution: but I reproach myself bitterly now for not having struggled against the position I was put into. Looking back now I cannot help seeing that there were many things I might have done. I was so afraid of my child being taken from me. I allowed that fear to paralyse my senses. I might have appealed to Mr. Sandford, and done many things I know now I might have done: and it would have been better for _him_; but I simply lived for my little one; my senses seemed numbed in all directions except in that one. I made it my idol; I prayed for it alone; I dreaded things for it; I worshipped it, and it was taken from me.... If only I knew that the little life had not been sacrificed to neglect I could remember it more happily; but in that fear lies the bitterness of my loss." "Then you may remember it more happily," said Grace, feelingly, "because that London doctor said to me that the little child could not have been saved; there was something very delicate about it, and it had a very oddly-shaped head." "Then I can say God is very good," said Margaret, so low that Grace could hardly hear her. She began to talk again soon, about the scenery round them, and of Mrs. Dorriman. "There is something--some dread she has. I have no idea what it is, but the curious thing is that she so entirely forgets at times; then something brings it before her again. I love her dearly, and I wish she was perfectly happy." "I think she is a dear old thing," answered Grace; "but she always puts me in mind of some ivy or creeper that the wind has blown away from its support. She is one of the women who must have somebody to cling to, even if that somebody be tyranical and harsh like her brother." "Yet, in his own way, he has been kind to us." "Very much in his own way," said Grace, resentfully. "I have a fancy about Mr. Sandford," Margaret said rather dreamily. "You have generally nice fancies about most people, darling; tell your fancy to me." "You will only laugh?" "I swear not to laugh." "You dislike him more than I do." "I suppose I do, but do you know, Margaret, that since I am happier, I mean since I have had so much affection from my husband and not felt like a boat without oars or rudder, or whatever the thing is that steers it, I feel ever so much kinder about every body--even about him. I am quite convinced that if somebody left me a large fortune I should become a striking instance of overpowering amiability." "It is a problem I never can solve. I often wonder whether trial or prosperity softens people best." "It depends upon the material; nothing would hurt you; but for me, I am a sort of acid, and more acid makes me into an explosive." "My fancy about Mr. Sandford is that at one time in his life, perhaps when he was quite young, he has suffered, and cruelly suffered, from some terrible injustice."