'We must go back to the second, I think. That one,--in Crampton,
don't they call the suburb? There were three sitting-rooms; don't
you remember how we laughed at the number compared with the three
bed-rooms? But I have planned it all. The front room down-stairs
is to be your study and our dining-room (poor papa!), for, you
know, we settled mamma is to have as cheerful a sitting-room as
we can get; and that front room up-stairs, with the atrocious
blue and pink paper and heavy cornice, had really a pretty view
over the plain, with a great bend of river, or canal, or whatever
it is, down below. Then I could have the little bed-room behind,
in that projection at the head of the first flight of
stairs--over the kitchen, you know--and you and mamma the room
behind the drawing-room, and that closet in the roof will make
you a splendid dressing-room.' 'But Dixon, and the girl we are to have to help?' 'Oh, wait a minute. I am overpowered by the discovery of my own
genius for management. Dixon is to have--let me see, I had it
once--the back sitting-room. I think she will like that. She
grumbles so much about the stairs at Heston; and the girl is to
have that sloping attic over your room and mamma's. Won't that
do?' 'I dare say it will. But the papers. What taste! And the
overloading such a house with colour and such heavy cornices!' 'Never mind, papa! Surely, you can charm the landlord into
re-papering one or two of the rooms--the drawing-room and your
bed-room--for mamma will come most in contact with them; and your
book-shelves will hide a great deal of that gaudy pattern in the
dining-room.' 'Then you think it the best? If so, I had better go at once and
call on this Mr. Donkin, to whom the advertisement refers me. I
will take you back to the hotel, where you can order lunch, and
rest, and by the time it is ready, I shall be with you. I hope I
shall be able to get new papers.' Margaret hoped so too, though she said nothing. She had never
come fairly in contact with the taste that loves ornament,
however bad, more than the plainness and simplicity which are of
themselves the framework of elegance. Her father took her through
the entrance of the hotel, and leaving her at the foot of the
staircase, went to the address of the landlord of the house they
had fixed upon. Just as Margaret had her hand on the door of
their sitting-room, she was followed by a quick-stepping waiter: 'I beg your pardon, ma'am. The gentleman was gone so quickly, I
had no time to tell him. Mr. Thornton called almost directly
after you left; and, as I understood from what the gentleman
said, you would be back in an hour, I told him so, and he came
again about five minutes ago, and said he would wait for Mr.
Hale. He is in your room now, ma'am.' 'Thank you. My father will return soon, and then you can tell
him.' Margaret opened the door and went in with the straight,
fearless, dignified presence habitual to her. She felt no
awkwardness; she had too much the habits of society for that.
Here was a person come on business to her father; and, as he was
one who had shown himself obliging, she was disposed to treat him
with a full measure of civility. Mr. Thornton was a good deal
more surprised and discomfited than she. Instead of a quiet,
middle-aged clergyman, a young lady came forward with frank
dignity,--a young lady of a different type to most of those he
was in the habit of seeing. Her dress was very plain: a close
straw bonnet of the best material and shape, trimmed with white
ribbon; a dark silk gown, without any trimming or flounce; a
large Indian shawl, which hung about her in long heavy folds, and
which she wore as an empress wears her drapery. He did not
understand who she was, as he caught the simple, straight,
unabashed look, which showed that his being there was of no
concern to the beautiful countenance, and called up no flush of
surprise to the pale ivory of the complexion. He had heard that
Mr. Hale had a daughter, but he had imagined that she was a
little girl.