"It wouldn't," she remarked, smiling. "But this is Margaret." "Where's she been all the while?" "Oh, only at school--there's no mystery. He was only at Hatcham Ford four years--just her school years. He didn't bring her there in the holidays, because that would have meant a chaperon--he couldn't have looked after a girl--and he hated the idea of that. And I think he was afraid, too, that the people wouldn't be nice to her. He was very sensitive for her, though he wasn't at all for himself." She paused a moment. "Does that explain anything else I've said?" I thought, for a moment, over our talk. "About the marriage?" "Yes," said Jenny. "It didn't seem fair to her without that. That weighed with him more than anything else--and with me, too, a good deal. I don't think I need be ashamed of that." "Certainly you needn't--quite the contrary in fact." "We should have wanted her to be with us--to pay us visits anyhow--at least until she married. Yes, it wouldn't have been just." She frowned impatiently; still more than anything else, Margaret Octon seemed to bring home to her the difficult side--the side most hard to defend--of what she had done and contemplated. She passed away from it without more words. "When he was dying he gave her to me. That put an end to the quarrel I told you about. It gave me back some of him and gave me something to live for. 'I know you'll do the handsome thing by her, Jenny,' he said. I mean to try, Austin." "I'm sure you do, but"--I could not help blurting it out--"won't her being here make matters worse?" "Worse or better, better or worse, here she's going to be," said Jenny. "She's been with me nearly a year already. She's one of the two things he's left behind him--to stay with me." I did not ask what the other thing was. "Is she to bear his name?" "Of course she is. She's my friend and ward--and Leonard Octon's daughter." "Rather a pill for Catsford! Dear me, what a pretty little thing it is!" "I'm very glad she's like that. It makes so much more possible. This is a good gift that Leonard has left me. She's my joy--you must be my consolation. I can't give you anything in return, but there's something I can give her--and I'll give it full measure, for Leonard's sake." She laughed, rather reluctantly, squeezing my arm again. "Oh, yes, and I'm afraid a little bit because Jenny Driver still likes her own way! And, above all, her own way with Catsford! Shall we see if she can get it?" CHAPTER XVIII THE NEW CAMPAIGN