Take Care. -if You Do

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 Anyone 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.

There Was A Filmy Veil Of Soft Dull Mist Obscuring, But Not Hiding, All Objects, Giving Them A Lilac Hue, For The Sun Had Not Yet Fully Set; A Robin Was Singing ... The Leaves Were More Gorgeous Than Ever; The First Touch Of Frost Would Lay Them All Low To The Ground. Already One Or Two Kept Constantly Floating Down, Amber And Golden In The Low Slanting Sun-rays.

He Almost Said To Himself That He Did Not Like Her, Before Their Conversation Ended; He Tried So Hard To Compensate Himself For The Mortified Feeling, That While He Looked Upon Her With An Admiration He Could Not Repress, She Looked At Him With Proud Indifference, Taking Him, He Thought, For What, In His Irritation, He Told Himself - Was A Great Fellow, With Not A Grace Or A Refinement About Him.

The Question Always Is, Has Everything Been Done To Make The Sufferings Of These Exceptions As Small As Possible? Or, In The Triumph Of The Crowded Procession, Have The Helpless Been Trampled On, Instead Of Being Gently Lifted Aside Out Of The Roadway Of The Conqueror, Whom They Have No Power To Accompany On His March?

Mr Thornton Would Rather Have Heard That She Was Suffering The Natural Sorrow. In The First Place, There Was Selfishness Enough In Him To Have Taken Pleasure In The Idea That His Great Love Might Come In To Comfort And Console Her; Much The Same Kind Of Strange Passionate Pleasure Which Comes Stinging Through A Mother's Heart, When Her Drooping Infant Nestles Close To Her, And Is Dependent Upon Her For Everything.