They had never had much superfluity, as Margaret knew.  She felt that it was a great weight suddenly thrown upon her shoulders.  Four months ago, all the decisions she needed to make were what dress she would wear for dinner, and to help Edith to draw out the lists of who should take down whom in the dinner parties at home.  Nor was the household in which she lived one that called for much decision.  Except in the one grand case of Captain Lennox’s offer, everything went on with the regularity of clockwork.  Once a year, there was a long discussion between her aunt and Edith as to whether they should go to the Isle of Wight, abroad, or to Scotland; but at such times Margaret herself was secure of drifting, without any exertion of her own, into the quiet harbour of home.  Now, since that day when Mr. Lennox came, and startled her into a decision, every day brought some question, momentous to her, and to those whom she loved, to be settled.

Her father went up after tea to sit with his wife.  Margaret remained alone in the drawing-room.  Suddenly she took a candle and went into her father’s study for a great atlas, and lugging it back into the drawing-room, she began to pore over the map of England.  She was ready to look up brightly when her father came down stairs.

’I have hit upon such a beautiful plan.  Look here—­in Darkshire, hardly the breadth of my finger from Milton, is Heston, which I have often heard of from people living in the north as such a pleasant little bathing-place.  Now, don’t you think we could get mamma there with Dixon, while you and I go and look at houses, and get one all ready for her in Milton?  She would get a breath of sea air to set her up for the winter, and be spared all the fatigue, and Dixon would enjoy taking care of her.’

‘Is Dixon to go with us?’ asked Mr. Hale, in a kind of helpless dismay.

‘Oh, yes!’ said Margaret.  ’Dixon quite intends it, and I don’t know what mamma would do without her.’

’But we shall have to put up with a very different way of living, I am afraid.  Everything is so much dearer in a town.  I doubt if Dixon can make herself comfortable.  To tell you the truth Margaret, I sometimes feel as if that woman gave herself airs.’

‘To be sure she does, papa,’ replied Margaret; ’and if she has to put up with a different style of living, we shall have to put up with her airs, which will be worse.  But she really loves us all, and would be miserable to leave us, I am sure—­especially in this change; so, for mamma’s sake, and for the sake of her faithfulness, I do think she must go.’

’Very well, my dear.  Go on.  I am resigned.  How far is Heston from Milton?  The breadth of one of your fingers does not give me a very clear idea of distance.’

‘Well, then, I suppose it is thirty miles; that is not much!’

’Not in distance, but in—.  Never mind!  If you really think it will do your mother good, let it be fixed so.’