Upon the following morning, Margaret found two letters; one was a note for her mother, the other a letter from her Aunt Shaw. She set about reading the letter to her mother, as she convalesced in bed, having suffered a turn the evening before.

'Aunt Shaw is in Naples, Mamma. She complains of the heat.' Margaret read on and frowned. 'Oh! it is too hot! She has taken rooms in Sorrento.' Mrs Hale was greatly interested in her sister's travels, and asked Margaret trifling questions until each line had been talked over some four or five times. Mrs Hale, taken to her bed, could find no greater enjoyment than in thinking of foreign travels and sumptuous ballrooms and hotels, lavish dining tables and gleaming silverware - for surely, an enjoyment - taken only vicariously - is still an enjoyment, indeed.

It was with alacrity, therefore, that Mrs Hale - upon opening the note which had, until then, been overlooked in favour of Aunt Shaw's letter, and finding it to contain an invitation to the Thornton's annual dinner on the twenty-first of the month - insisted that Mr Hale, daughter and goddaughter must attend. A formal dinner, hosted by such a proud and formidable woman as Mrs Thornton, was sure to be a fine affair. And, although merely manufacturers, the Thorntons were - Mrs Hale knew - well respected amongst the wealthy business owners of Milton, and so surely, an invitation to such an occasion was an acknowledgment of the southern family's worth, and therefore not to be ignored.

'But Mamma is unwell!' complained Margaret to her father, upon leaving the invalid to rest. 'Surely we cannot think to go with Mamma being so unwell?' But Mr Hale would not hear of it. Mrs Hale wished for them to go, and he would not deny her this one small happiness.

'But Margaret, my dear, your mother would not think of our going if she did not consider herself well enough to have us leave her. And she has been so much brighter to-day. Do you not think so?' And Margaret did, for Mrs Hale had rallied as a result of her bedrest, and she did so long to see her daughtered dressed in all her finery, once again.

'And Isabel, Margaret. Think of Isabel. She will never have dined at such an occasion - I hardly think she can be accustomed to formal dinners, having lived so long abroad, and not even in Europe! No, we must do as your mother bids, for her sake and for Isabel's.' Margaret relented, for she could see that accepting the invitation would bring her mother pleasure, and what better opportunity to promote an attachment between Isabel and Mr Thornton, than to have her dress in a splendid gown?

'Mother,' asked Mr Thornton, as he stood before her in the mill house dining room, 'who have accepted our invitations for the annual dinner?' Mrs Thornton cast about for the notes of reply and proceeded to read through them.

'Collingbrooks accept, Slicksons accept, as do Stephenses, but the Browns decline. Hales -Father, daughter and goddaughter do come, but the mother is too afflicted. Macphersons come, as does Mr Young and Mr Horsfall. I thought I might invite the Porters, seeing as the Browns can't come.' She looked up at her son, hoping him well pleased.

'Very good,' smiled Mr Thornton, before his smile fell. 'I have been thinking, Mother, that Mrs Hale might be truly very far from well; I think it more than a trifling southern softness, from what Dr Donaldson has told me.' Fanny quirked an eyebrow above her embroidery hoop and spoke up in a loud, brash voice.

'I think it very strange that they should come at all, if Mrs Hale is so very ill.'

'I did not say she was very ill,' scowled Mr Thornton, vexed that his sister should imply some discourteous impropriety on the part of the Hale household. 'I merely said that I thought her very far from well, and it is very likely that the family may not even know of it.' But then he recalled the words of Dr Donaldson; how Miss Darrow had sat in on his examination of the patient, offering her insights and asking probing and astute questions. Indeed, Mr Thornton had been greatly surprised to learn that Miss Darrow had even seen fit to take down a list of medicines and tonics from the doctor. So competent, had Dr Donaldson called her, that he had lamented to Mr Thornton, how very vexatious it was that Miss Darrow - with all her expertise - was doing him out of what he otherwise felt would be a very fine patient. Distasteful, Mr Thornton had thought it at the time, but now, as he recalled that fleeting conversation with the family doctor, he felt intrigued, and a strange sensation he could only have described as pride, but that, he thought, was incongruous, and so he pushed the thought from his mind and turned his attention back to his friend and teacher. No, thought Mr Thornton, he cannot know. Miss Darrow would not wish to alarm him; not if she is capable of managing Mrs Hale's illness. And Miss Hale! She would never wish to alarm her father.

'Oh! I should think whether they know of it, of little consequence,' laughed Fanny, in her irritating way. 'I should think it more likely that they are aware of what an advantage it would be to them - to Mr Hale, in want of pupils - to be in the company of Milton's first families.' Mr Thornton glowered angrily at his sister.

'I should not think that would influence them. That would not be their motivation. No, I understand how it is,' announced he, musing once again upon the small form of Miss Darrow. She allays their fears. She pushes Mr Hale into company to lift his spirits, for he is troubled by his wife.

'John!' scoffed Fanny, her mouth hanging open with incredulity; her voice weak and flustered. 'How very well you claim to understand these Hales! And I don't see why you cannot allow that we can know a thing about them! You seem to think them so very different to all other people one could meet.' She spoke lightly; she had not meant to vex him, but thought only of her brother's curious regard for the Hales. She thought him very unfair in his resolution that she could not comprehend their motives, where he should understand so clearly, but her words irked him and he bristled silently. That she could know them - after one afternoon engagement! They are so very different; how can she not see? A simpleton could, scolded Mr Thornton, to himself. Oblivious to her son's chagrin, Mrs Thornton took up her daughter's topic of conversation; her eyes still focused on her piece of worsted.

'They do not appear to be very different. Mr Hale seems a worthy kind of man, but rather simple. He would not do for trade; better that he was a clergyman and now a tutor. Mrs Hale's quite the fine lady with her ailments and nerves. I should think she was taught to be such, and finds a certain triumph in her invalidism. The daughter - I am not yet sure of her - I think her proud and quite disagreeable, thinking herself so above us northerners. She does not strike me as a fool, but I suppose she must be, to think herself so very high above her company, for they are not rich and I doubt they ever have been! No, she doesn't please me and I find little of interest in her. The goddaughter; I allow, she is quite different, but I suppose anyone who has lived in such exotic lands must have a certain peculiarity about them. Yet she seems quite quick in her thinking, and quite ready to please. She is not of our society, but I should not be sorry to know her better.' Jealous of what she knew to be a great compliment from her mother, Fanny set down her embroidery and gaped and gasped in disagreement.

'Miss Darrow! She is not accomplished. She cannot play at all and is not even fond of music. She does not paint and her skin; why, I have never seen someone so caught by the sun. She is not at all fashionable and then she displays such insufferable independence. You know, I think she was even proud that she could not play; she certainly felt no shame in it!'

'Go on, Fanny! What other faults do you find with her? What else does she lack to bring her up to your standards?' cried Mr Thornton, sharply. He chafed indignantly to hear such a creature spoken of in such a way. Such a creature! he asked of himself. When did I came to think of her thus? He was struck dumb at the realisation, and could only frown in frustration; his expression dark and pensive.

'Nay! John,' replied his mother, in what was - for her - a consoling tone (for she could see that Fanny had offended him). She would have added to Fanny's suit by claiming the girl to be too forward and improper, in her open admiration of her son's visage; she would have attested to the additional fault, for that simple fact that she was jealous of any mortified feeling her son should feel on behalf of the young lady, but she was struck by the absurdity of Fanny's declaration, for her daughter was spoilt and flighty; she wore fine gowns and acted the lady, but beneath the frills and fine lace there was little substance and - she was loath to admit - perhaps less to admire. It was only the innate knowledge of the unfavourable comparison between both young ladies, which provoked Mrs Thornton to soothe her son instead of compound Fanny's list of short fallings. 'Fanny means no harm in it. Miss Darrow did say - without one ounce of shame or blush - that she could not play; she was not sorry for it. And you cannot deny her skin is not so pale as we are used to in the north. I will own that she holds a certain independence of manner and spirit which I cannot admire, for I do not think it becoming in one so young, but I am not offended by it; I think it more a product of her strange upbringing. Perhaps, if we were let alone with her and the Hales, we could instil in her some restraint and then we may come to like her.'

'I never could!' cried Fanny, safe in the knowledge that her mother would shield her from her brother's ire. 'She is not a proper lady. No gentleman will take her as a wife; she can be no friend of mine!' For she had no interest in fashion, knew not how to play the piano and had never visited the Alhambra; an acquaintance of little worth - she was sure. Mr Thornton heard his sister's lamentations, but chose not to reply. He walked about the room, anxious to set about his work and end all conversation, but his mother would not order candles so early in the evening - frugal to the last - and so he could take up no occupation.

'Mother!' sighed Mr Thornton, at length, as he stopped before her; a hasty breath, willing himself courage. 'I wish that you would like her. I wish you both would like her.' His tone was soft and - Mrs Thornton was aghast to note - held a vulnerable note of pleading. She was alarmed, and could only turn to her son and study his face; anxious, yet earnest.

'Why, John?' But his expression was so tender - a softening of the eyes, the slightest flush to the cheek - that she felt she knew well, why. 'You're not thinking of marrying her, surely? She is only the Hale's goddaughter. Even the daughter is penniless, but the goddaughter! She lives off their charity by all accounts. I should think she hasn't even a penny to bring to a marriage.' Mr Thornton smiled at his mother; so practical and cold. If she knew he would rather marry a penniless girl whom he loved than a wealthy heiress whom he could only think of as a beauty, she would believe him weak.

'I doubt she would have me, Mother. She is, as you say, quite independent. She professed herself to having been treated as a man's equal when she was overseas, and I should think any husband would trench upon her in a way she would ill tolerate.' Mrs Thornton's brow dipped for one moment, as she thought upon whether or not to correct her son in what she supposed to be, a faulty supposition. Yes, Miss Darrow was strong-willed, and yes, she would be a challenging wife, but she knew the girl to respect authority; to have no unjust pride. That Miss Darrow admired her son was beyond doubt, and she suspected that for love, she might allow herself to be reined in. But the girl was not of their class; not wealthy, not of their ways and manners. No, thought Mrs Thornton, I won't be the one to change his mind.

'She would be a challenge for any man,' spoke Mrs Thornton, carefully. 'She may well identify it in herself, and - as you say - have no intention of ever marrying.' Mr Thornton laid a hand upon his mother's shoulder - a gesture of affection - and spoke low to her ear.

'I well believe it. And so saying, I hope you will have no fear that I have any thought or expectation of offering for her. I am quite unconcerned about talking of her - we have no need to do so more than we should any other - only that I have a concern for the girl in the future. I have a fear that Mrs Hale may not be long in a position to offer a mother's care to Miss Hale or Miss Darrow, and Miss Darrow - being an orphan - must surely feel the loss. Being in what is - to her - a foreign land, and knowing little of English ways, let alone our northern ones, she must be in need of a woman's counsel. Miss Hale will be of little support to her, if strife should befall the mother, for surely she must be in want, herself.'

'I shall befriend the girl - Miss Hale, too - if it is at your asking. I would befriend any woman - Jezebel, herself! - if you should wish it, though I resent the thought that you should concern yourself with any girl who might not think to have you, should you offer her your hand. Any girl would be a fool and I should hate her for it.'

'Then know that I should never ask her and have no fear of hating her.'

'If you should never ask her - brown as she is! - I wonder why it is that we must speak of her so very often?' cried Fanny. 'I am sure I have no interest in such a person.'

'Indeed!' came Mr Thornton's bitter reply. 'Let us talk on something more agreeable to you, Fanny. Perhaps the strike would suit you? Should you find that pleasant?' Fanny's eyes widened in alarm and she could wrench only a choking gasp from her throat. A strike! It sounded so very savage.

'Have the hands turned out, then, John?' asked Mrs Thornton, with a grave understanding Fanny could never muster.

'Ay! Hamper's men are out, already. Mine work out their week to avoid their fines, but they will be gone by the end of their week. They dare not go before their time is up, knowing I'd have them on a punishment for breach of contract,' replied Mr Thornton, darkly.

'But the legal costs!' cried Mrs Thornton, aghast. 'The cost to you would have been greater than the loss of the hands turning out before their time.'

'Ay, but I'd have done it. They'd have felt the weight of my resolve; they'd know I keep my word. I'd have done it just to teach them I'm no man to quake upon what I have determined. Slickson's men are already out; they know he wouldn't spend the fees in punishing them. No, mine shall go too; end of the week.'

'But have you many orders in the books?'

'Of course! The hands know it to be so, but they don't understand all - despite what they may think - so off they go, and the mill falls silent.'

'How do you mean, John?' He knew his mother to take an interest - not just in the management of the hands, but in the business as a whole. She prided herself on her son's achievements and wished to know all - to be involved. He would not tramp upon her wish.

'Why, the Americans begin to flood the market. They get their product out there and we all compete for orders. The going price for each job is haggled - there being a surplus of finished cotton - and our profits decrease. The hands don't see this. They think only of the wage they took three years ago and demand that be their lot. The Americas alone could see our mills shut up, and now the hands force us to stop production so we cannot complete our orders. They'll force us next, to go cap-in-hand to the spinner's secretary and ask for workers - let them name the price - and they'll make their demands, forcing us to accept, so that we may start up again and get our orders out, but they don't consider that we have to turn a profit. If the wage is too high and the profit too low because the Americans push down the price of finished cotton, then we masters shan't turn a profit, and then we will all be lost; all be set out to tramp.'

'But you could get hands from Ireland?' suggested Mrs Thornton, hopefully. She would not see her son give in to the ignorant demands of his men. She would rather leave the fools to starve through their own ignorance, than to have him go begging them back to work.

'Ay! I can and I will, if I must. It will be an expense - one I can ill afford - but I shall do it, rather than give in.' Mrs Thornton's breast swelled with pride. Strong man, was her son. Determined, resolute. No mother could wish for more.

The evening wore on, the servants came up for their chapter of the Old Testament and prayers, and Mrs Thornton retired with a long and solemn look at her son, which held an intensity he felt in his heart. Mr Thornton paced away the hours, ruminating upon his business; the plans he had made which must now be undone and reworked, in testament to the strike. He pondered on what should happen if the strike should fell his mill, but he could find no ready answer, for he could not envisage ceding defeat or giving up what he had spent so many years sweating his labour for. No, thought he, as he trod softly to his chamber, I shall give them two weeks. If they were not back by then, it is hands from Ireland.