The course of Margaret's day was this; a quiet hour or two before a late breakfast; an unpunctual meal, lazily eaten by weary and half-awake people, but yet at which, in all its dragged out length, she was expected to be present, because, directly afterwards, came a discussion of plans, at which, although they none of them concerned her, she was expected to give her sympathy, if she could not assist with her advice; an endless number of notes to write, which Edith invariably left to her, with many caressing compliments as to her eloquence du billet; a little play with Sholto as he returned from his morning's walk; besides the care of the children during the servants' dinner; a drive or callers; and some dinner or morning engagement for her aunt and cousins, which left Margaret free, it is true, but rather wearied with the inactivity of the day, coming upon depressed spirits and delicate health.
She looked forward with longing, though unspoken interest to the homely object of Dixon's return from Milton; where, until now, the old servant had been busily engaged in winding up all the affairs of the Hale family. It had appeared a sudden famine to her heart, this entire cessation of any news respecting the people among whom she had lived so long. It was true, that Dixon, in her business-like letters, quoted, every now and then, an opinion of Mr. Thornton's as to what she had better do about the furniture, or how act in regard to the landlord of the Crampton Terrace house. But it was only here and there that the name came in, or any Milton name, indeed; and Margaret was sitting one evening, all alone in the Lennox's drawing-room, not reading Dixon's letters, which yet she held in her hand, but thinking over them, and recalling the days which had been, and picturing the busy life out of which her own had been taken and never missed; wondering if all went on in that whirl just as if she and her father had never been; questioning within herself, if no one in all the crowd missed her (not Higgins, she was not thinking of him), when, suddenly Mr. Bell was announced; and Margaret hurried the letters into her work-basket, and started up, blushing as if she had been doing some guilty thing.
"Oh, Mr. Bell! I never thought of seeing you!"
"But you give me a welcome, I hope, as well as that very pretty start of surprise."

The course of Margaret's day was this; a quiet hour or two before a late breakfast, lazily eaten by weary and half-awake people; afterwards came a discussion of plans, none of which concerned her; an endless number of notes to write, which Edith invariably left to her; a little play with baby Sholto, besides the care of the children during the servants' dinner; a drive or callers; and some engagement for her aunt and cousins, which left Margaret free, it is true, but rather wearied with the inactivity of the day.
She looked forward with longing to Dixon's return from Milton, where the old servant had been engaged in winding up all the Hale family's affairs. She was hungry for news of the people amongst whom she had lived so long. It was true that Dixon, in her business-letters, quoted every now and then an opinion of Mr. Thornton's as to what she had better do about the furniture. But it was only here and there that any Milton name came in.
Margaret was sitting one evening, alone in the Lennoxes's drawing-room, thinking over Dixon's letters and wondering if all went on in that busy whirl just as if she and her father had never been, or if anyone missed her; when, suddenly, Mr. Bell was announced. Margaret hurried the letters into her work-basket, and started up, blushing guiltily.
'Mr. Bell! I never thought of seeing you! 