In the afternoon it occurred to her that it would be a good plan to compel Mrs. Hunter to see her and talk to her openly. Naturally Margaret shrank from the ordeal, but she thought it quite possible that good might come of it. She would try to tell Mrs. Hunter that she need have no fear that she would marry her son if that would be to separate him from his mother, but she would point out to her that she had come to the parting of the ways, and needed to decide on some action, and then she would appeal to the mother’s love and see if the proud woman would not yield a little. Poor Margaret! After nerving herself to the effort she entered the garden of John’s house, and saw Mrs. Hunter at the window. But the servant informed her that Mrs. Hunter bade her say that she was not at home. So Margaret swallowed her disappointment and returned home. Happily for her peace of mind, John came early enough to take tea with her. “Margaret, my darling,” he said, “I am hungry for your love. I must see you oftener than once a week, or I shall become a very disagreeable fellow. What is the matter?” His eyes were searching her face, and love made them keen. He saw that she was labouring under some excitement. She thought she would not tell him quite at first about her visit to his mother, if at all, for it would only give him pain. “I want my tea,” she said; “let us have it cosily together. Even Graf is out, and I do not expect any one to call. I want to ask you something?” “What is it, my Madge?” “The name of this wild flower. It is new to me.” “Nonsense! It is not at all an uncommon flower. You must be blinded by love, or you would have seen it before.” “Perhaps I am,” said Margaret, demurely. “Another cup?” But when the tea was drunk she could wait no longer. “I have a letter to show you. It is from a gentleman,” she said, lightly. His brow clouded. “Who is he?” “Ah! that is what I do not know. But you need not be angry. He has made me a proposal; but he is a very old man.” They read the letter together. At first John was pleased. “It is a capital idea,” he said. “It is just what is wanted. Does not everybody say that the great design of the Zenana work in India is to train mothers? And there is not a town of any size in England but has hundreds of mothers such as this man had.” But as he read further he was not so satisfied. “What does the fellow mean?” he said. “How perfectly absurd! He asks you to do it. A pretty thing, indeed! You have something else to do with your life, Margaret. I want you.” But he was very pale, and a fear had taken possession of him. “The letter has disturbed me a little,” she said; “but the writer surely cannot mean that the scheme hangs upon my accepting or rejecting the management of it. I am too young and inexperienced.”