"After all it is right," said she, hearing the voices of children at play while she was dressing. "If the world stood still, it would retrograde and become corrupt, if that is not Irish. Looking out of myself, and my own painful sense of change, the progress all around me is right and necessary. I must not think so much of how circumstances affect me myself, but how they affect others, if I wish to have a right judgment, or a hopeful trustful heart." And with a smile ready in her eyes to quiver down to her lips, she went into the parlour and greeted Mr. Bell.
"Ah, Missy! you were up late last night, and so you're late this morning. Now I've got a little piece of news for you. What do you think of an invitation to dinner? a morning call, literally in the dewy morning. Why, I've had the Vicar here already, on his way to the school. How much the desire of giving our hostess a teetotal lecture for the benefit of the haymakers, had to do with his earliness, I don't know; but here he was, when I came down just before nine; and we are asked to dine there to-day."
"But Edith expects me back—I cannot go," said Margaret, thankful to have so good an excuse.
"Yes! I know; so I told him. I thought you would not want to go. Still it is open, if you would like it."
"Oh, no!" said Margaret. "Let us keep to our plan. Let us start at twelve. It is very good and kind of them; but indeed I could not go."
"Very well. Don't fidget yourself, and I'll arrange it all."
