seen her in such dress before; and yet now it
appeared as if such elegance of attire was so
befitting her noble figure and lofty serenity
of countenance, that she ought to go always
thus apparelled. She was talking to Fanny;
about what he could not hear; but he saw
his sister's restless way of continually arranging
some part of her gown, her wandering
eyes, now glancing here, now there, but without
any purpose in her observation; and he
contrasted them uneasily with the large soft
eyes that looked forth steadily at one object,
as if from out their light beamed some gentle
influence of repose: the curving lines of the
red lips, just parted in the interest of listening
to what her companion said—the head a little
bent forwards, so as to make a long sweeping
line from the summit where the light caught
on the glossy raven hair, to the smooth ivory
tip of the shoulder; the round white arms,
and taper hands, laid lightly across each other,
but perfectly motionless in their pretty attitude.
Mr. Thornton sighed as he took in all
this with one of his sudden comprehensive
glances. And then he turned his back to the
young ladies, and threw himself, with an
effort, but with all his heart and soul, into a
conversation with Mr. Hale.

More people came—more and more. Fanny
left Margaret's side, and helped her mother
to receive her guests. Mr. Thornton felt
that in this influx no one was speaking to
Margaret, and was restless under this
apparent neglect. But he never went
near her himself; he did not look at her.
Only he knew what she was doing—or not
doing—better than he knew the movements
of any one else in the room. Margaret was
so unconscious of herself, and so much
amused by watching other people, that she
never thought whether she was left unnoticed
or not. Somebody took her down to dinner;
she did not catch the name; nor did he seem
much inclined to talk to her. There was a
very animated conversation going on among
the gentlemen; the ladies, for the most part,
were silent, employing themselves in taking
notes of the dinner and criticising each other's
dresses. Margaret caught the clue to the
general conversation, grew interested and
listened attentively. Mr. Horstall, the stranger,
whose visit to the town was the original germ
of the party, was asking questions relative to
the trade and manufactures of the place; and
the rest of the gentlemen—all Milton men,
—were giving him answers and explanations.
Some dispute arose, which was warmly
contested; it was referred to Mr. Thornton, who
had hardly spoken before; but who now gave
an opinion, the grounds of which were so
clearly stated that even the opponents yielded.
Margaret's attention was thus called to her
host; his whole manner, as master of the
house, and entertainer of his friends, was so
straightforward, yet simple and modest, as to
be thoroughly dignified. Margaret thought
she had never seen him to so much advantage.
When he had come to their house, there had
been always something, either of over-eagerness
or of that kind of vexed annoyance which
seemed ready to pre-suppose that he was
unjustly judged, and yet felt too proud to try
and make himself better understood. But
now, among his fellows, there was no
uncertainty as to his position. He was regarded
by them as a man of great force of character;
of power in many ways. There was no need
to struggle for their respect. He had it, and
he knew it; and the security of this gave a
fine grand quietness to his voice and ways,
which Margaret had missed before.

He was not in the habit of talking to ladies;
and what he did say was a little formal. To
Margaret herself he hardly spoke at all. She
was surprised to think how much she enjoyed
this dinner. She knew enough now to
understand many local interests—nay, even some
of the technical words employed by the eager
millowners. She silently took a very decided
part in the question they were discussing. At
any rate, they talked in desperate earnest,—
not in the used-up style that wearied her so
in the old London parties. She wondered
that, with all this dwelling on the manufactures
and trade of the place, no allusion was
made to the strike then pending. She did
not yet know how coolly such things were
taken by the masters, as having only one
possible end. To be sure, the men were cutting
their own throats, as they had done many a
time before; but if they would be fools, and
put themselves into the hands of a rascally
set of paid delegates, they must take the
consequence. One or two thought Thornton
looked out of spirits; and, of course, he must
lose by this turn-out. But it was an accident
that might happen to themselves any day;
and Thornton was as good to manage a strike
as any one; for he was as iron a chap as any
in Milton. The hands had mistaken their
man in trying that dodge on him. And they
chuckled inwardly at the idea of the workmen's
discomfiture and defeat, in their attempt
to alter one iota of what Thornton had
decreed.

It was rather dull for Margaret after dinner.
She was glad when the gentlemen came, not
merely because she caught her father's eye to
brighten her sleepiness up; but because she
could listen to something larger and grander
than the petty interests which the ladies had
been talking about. She liked the exultation
in the sense of power which these Milton
men had. It might be rather rampant in
its display, and savour of boasting; but
still they seemed to defy the old limits of
possibility in a kind of fine intoxication, caused
by the recollection of what had been achieved,
and what yet should be. If in her cooler
moments she might not approve of their
spirit in all things, still there was much to
admire in their forgetfulness of themselves
and the present, in their anticipated
triumphs over all inanimate matter at some