Margaret and the Colonel were left alone, but the fear of the servants was upon them. They did not venture to say anything to each other. They were helped solemnly to the dish which had begun to go round, and for a moment sat in silence like two mutes, with the inexorable bouquet between them. Then Colonel Piercey said, in very bad French, “This is worse than I feared. What are we to do?” “I shall go to my room to Osy before she comes back.” “I have no Osy to go to,” he said with a short laugh. “What a strange scene! stranger than any in a book. I am glad to have seen it once in a way.” “Not glad, I hope,” said Margaret. “Sorry for Uncle Giles and all the rest. But she is not so bad as that. No, no, she is not. You don’t see--she wants to assert all her rights, to show you and me how strong she is, and how she scorns us. On ordinary occasions she is not like this.” “You are either absurdly charitable in your thoughts, or else you want to throw dust in my eyes, Cousin Meg.” “Nothing of the kind; I do neither. It is quite true. She is not bad in character at all. She will be kind to Uncle Giles, and probably improve his condition. We have all had a blind confidence in Dunning, and perhaps he doesn’t deserve it. She wants to get Uncle Giles into her own hands, and she will do so. But he will not suffer; I am sure of it.” “Poor old gentleman! It is hard to be old, to be handed from one to another. And will he accept it?” Colonel Piercey said. “She will be very nice and kind, and she is young and pretty.” “Oh, not--not that!” “You are prejudiced, Cousin Gerald. She is pretty when you see her in her proper aspect, and there can be no doubt she is young. Her voice is nice and soft. It is almost like a lady’s voice. Hush! I think I hear her coming back!” Margaret rose hurriedly. “Please say to Mrs. Piercey, Robert, that I am tired, and have gone to my room.” “Let me come too,” said Gerald Piercey, following her into the hall. “I shall go away to-morrow, of course--and you, what are you going to do?” “I cannot go to-morrow. I shall have to wait--until I am turned out, or till I can go.” “I wish you would come with me to my father’s, where you would be most welcome: and he is a nearer relative than I am.” “Thank you; you go too far,” said Margaret. “To think me a scheming woman only this morning, and at night to offer me a new home, where I might scheme and plot at my leisure? No, I will do that no more: I will go to nobody. We are not destitute.” “Meg! will you remember that you have nobody nearer to you than my father and me?” “But I have,” she said, “on my mother’s side, and on my husband’s side. We shall find relations wherever we go.” He answered by an impatient exclamation. “There is one thing, at least, on which we made a bargain a few hours since,” he said.