There was nothing for it at last, but that which Mr. Thornton had dreaded for many weeks; he had to give up the business in which he had been so long engaged with so much. honour and success; and look out for a subordinate situation.  Marlborough Mills and the adjacent dwelling were held under a long lease; they must, if possible, be relet.  There was an immediate choice of situations offered to Mr. Thornton.  Mr. Hamper would have been only too glad to have secured him as a steady and experienced partner for his son, whom he was setting up with a large capital in a neighbouring town; but the young man was half-educated as regarded information, and wholly uneducated as regarded any other responsibility than that of getting money, and brutalised both as to his pleasures and his pains.  Mr. Thornton declined having any share in a partnership, which would frustrate what few plans he had that survived the wreck of his fortunes.  He would sooner consent to be only a manager, where he could have a certain degree of power beyond the mere money-getting part, than have to fall in with the tyrannical humours of a moneyed partner with whom he felt sure that he should quarrel in a few months.

So he waited, and stood on one side with profound humility, as the news swept through the Exchange, of the enormous fortune which his brother-in-law had made by his daring speculation.  It was a nine days’ wonder.  Success brought with it its worldly consequence of extreme admiration.  No one was considered so wise and far-seeing as Mr. Watson.

CHAPTER LI

MEETING AGAIN

’Bear up, brave heart! we will be calm and strong;
Sure, we can master eyes, or cheek, or tongue,
Nor let the smallest tell-tale sign appear
She ever was, and is, and will be dear.’ 
RHYMING PLAY.

It was a hot summer’s evening.  Edith came into Margaret’s bedroom, the first time in her habit, the second ready dressed for dinner.  No one was there at first; the next time Edith found Dixon laying out Margaret’s dress on the bed; but no Margaret.  Edith remained to fidget about.

’Oh, Dixon! not those horrid blue flowers to that dead gold-coloured gown.  What taste!  Wait a minute, and I will bring you some pomegranate blossoms.’

’It’s not a dead gold-colour, ma’am.  It’s a straw-colour.  And blue always goes with straw-colour.’  But Edith had brought the brilliant scarlet flowers before Dixon had got half through her remonstrance.

‘Where is Miss Hale?’ asked Edith, as soon as she had tried the effect of the garniture.  ‘I can’t think,’ she went on, pettishly, ’how my aunt allowed her to get into such rambling habits in Milton!  I’m sure I’m always expecting to hear of her having met with something horrible among all those wretched places she pokes herself into.  I should never dare to go down some of those streets without a servant.  They’re not fit for ladies.’