The following day brought the arrival of a letter from Cousin Edith, and finding Mrs Hale interested, Margaret read the letter aloud for her mother's pleasure, whilst Isabel sat by, listening with all the interest one can feel for news which is no longer news, because it has been learnt before. Mrs Hale quite brightened at the letter, and found diversion in wondering what name Edith had chosen for her new born son.

It was whilst making suggestions of names, that Mr Thornton entered quietly, with yet another basket of fruit. Mrs Hale had been given that large basket of fine grapes and peaches only the day before, but Mr Thornton could not - nor would not - deny himself the satisfaction of being in the presence of Isabel again. She was quiet - as she had been upon their initial meeting the previous day - and he thought she looked a little fearful of him. He tamped down his irritating concern - though he did fleeting wonder if she was still in discomfort from the riot - and after greeting Mrs Hale and Margaret kindly - sparing only a cursory and stiffly-offered bow for Isabel - he spoke in that gentle way of his, brightening the invalid with only a few carefully-chosen words and a parcel of soft peaches.

He was tender in his farewell, and felt the gratitude of both mother and daughter, but noted in Isabel a certain mortification of feeling which only served to satisfy him, by showing him quite clearly, that his defiance of her was felt. The look that passed between them as he turned upon her that cold farewell, showed in her a certain weakness of resolve that he thought he might seek to exploit. Not knowing his thoughts, Isabel watched him leave with his outward expression of indifference, and feared that for all she had protested that he ought to love another, that if he should ever love Margaret, she would be unable to look upon their love, for to be so coolly regarded and avoided was a crushing blow, but to be replaced entirely - no longer scorned but wholly forgotten - would leave her so utterly un-thought of, by any being, upon any page, in any time.

'I think I really quite grow to like Mr Thornton, Margaret,' acknowledged Mrs Hale, in her feeble voice, no sooner than the gentleman in question had gone.

'Yes, as do I, Mamma. He is very good to us.' Mrs Hale nodded her agreement, and turned her watery eye upon Isabel, who had shrunk back into her chair as though wishing to go unseen.

'And you, Isabel? For you had always appeared to think quite well of him, and yet now you look so grave.'

'Not at all!' rushed Isabel, her cheeks flushing under Margaret's assessing gaze (for although Mrs Hale watched her closely, she no longer had the clarity of mind to form any dexterous mental deductions). 'I only wonder that he should bring another gift of fruit - and peaches again, too! - I should have thought some jargenelle pears would do quite well.'

'Pears!' cried Mrs Hale, in annoyance, for the gift of peaches - no matter how many peaches may now sit about the house - was a tribute to his admiration for her - and to sully that by claiming his gift to be lacking in thought or worth, stole from the invalid some of her great pride.

'Oh, no! forgive me. I think peaches very fine, but pears - they are the thing a doctor would prescribe.' Mollified - but only slightly - Mrs Hale turned back to her daughter with a wistful sigh.

'I wonder that Mrs Thornton does not call, for she knows I am unwell. Certainly she does - she sent the water-bed for my comfort.' Her voice was something of a whine, and it was clear to both Margaret and Isabel that Mrs Hale felt slighted, and so Margaret sought to soothe her mother by supposing that she heard of Mrs Hale's getting on from Mr Thornton, himself. Mrs Hale frowned in irritation. 'Yes, but I should like to see her, and it would do you well, too, for you have only Isabel for company now that the Higgins girl is gone, and Isabel can offer you no society.'

'I do not care for society, Mamma!' laughed Margaret, anxiously, for although she knew her mother spoke only the truth, it was no compliment to her friend.

'Do you think,' asked Mrs Hale, turning back to Isabel, 'that you might go to Marlborough Mills and ask if Mrs Thornton will visit me?' For she did not wish to be parted from her daughter for some four miles if another could easily manage the walk. Isabel swallowed thickly, and Margaret, noticing her friend's discomfort, turned to her with an encouraging smile.

'Yes! Please do, Isabel. And if she is to come, she ought to come soon, for once Frederick arrives, we shan't be able to have visitors.'

'If you wish it,' relented Isabel, but she did fear meeting that fierce matriarch once again - now so certainly despised for having rejected her son.

'Oh! and Martha - the girl Mrs Thornton recommended - she will have to be sent off when Frederick comes,' said Mrs Hale, hastily, 'but I shouldn't think Dixon can manage alone, and Isabel here is so took up with me, that she won't be able to help Dixon as she did before.' She trembled with the worry of it, and lost all of the warm glow brought about by the kindly arrival of the peaches.

'But I had thought of that, Mamma, and I think I have the very thing! Mary Higgins - Bessy's younger sister - she is very slack of work, and she's a good girl who would work hard and do her best. She can be trusted and is very quiet. She seldom seems to speak. She might come by whilst Frederick's here.'

'If it pleases you,' agreed Mrs Hale, with a disinterested sigh. 'As Dixon pleases, but oh! Margaret, you are very vulgar in your speech. "Slack of work"; it is so horribly provincial. What would Aunt Shaw think if you were to say such a thing in London?'

'Oh, Mamma!' laughed Margaret. 'I am sure - indeed! I have seen it in her letters - that Edith has picked up all sorts of military slang from Captain Lennox.'

'But Lennox is a Captain in the Militia and so his slang is quite proper, but yours is factory slang!' scolded Mrs Hale. Shaking her head in amusement, Margaret turned to Isabel, seeking to draw her into conversation; she could not know that Isabel was quiet because she feared Mr Thornton's return from his studies with Mr Hale.

'Isabel, when you were in the desert lands, surely you took up some provincialisms, as Mamma would call them?' Isabel could only smile wryly, for if Mrs Hale thought "slack of work" quite vulgar, her ears would veritably bleed at the language Isabel was accustomed to.

'It is very true, ma'am,' smiled Isabel, consolingly. 'The slang of where I have lived is far more vulgar. I think these Milton people speak very well. There is - I must admit - a certain vulgarity of manner, but I think that is to be expected when - '

'I don't like this place, Milton at all!' lamented Mrs Hale, in a sudden bout of irritability, which cut Isabel short. 'Edith was quite right in her letter; it is this dirty, smoky air which has made me so ill.' And here Mr Hale entered the room, a deep frown etched upon his brow, and Margaret, fearing that her father had heard her mother's hurtful words, sought to strike up her father's attention with hasty conversation.

'Isabel, what was it that you were just saying; there is a vulgarity of manner within Milton?' Isabel shuddered, knowing that although she could not see him, Mr Thornton stood just behind Mr Hale at the door, and yes! Mr Hale stepped forward, and that darkened countenance appeared before her and she knew, in an instance, that he had heard Margaret's words. Mortified that he might think she had spoken in any relation to him, Isabel rushed forth with a fudged explanation.

'I don't think the place vulgar,' blushed she. 'As I said, I think the people here speak very well; not half so offensively as I am accustomed to. I spoke only in that one's manners are so different here - so utterly different from those upon which I was raised, and - as an outsider - I can only judge Milton manners upon the standards with which I am familiar, and in certain regards, I do feel Milton lacking, but then in others, I think it quite superior.'

Mr Thornton felt the slight and the compliment, and knew not how to feel. His uncertainty vexed him, until he found himself addressing her directly as he had never previously done before others.

'In which respect do you find our Milton manners vulgar, Miss Darrow, if I may be so bold as to ask?' Her fingers knotted together and an effusion of pink crept up her neck and bled across her cheeks, but she looked to him defiantly and that ferocity of eye lit him from within until his eyes positively glowed back at her.

'Why, in the treatment of women, sir. Here I find that a man may order a woman and she is expected to act in accordance with his speech, and not only in terms of a woman's actions, but her very opinion is disregarded and belittled. The woman is thought inferior to the man, and that is a fault - a vulgarity of manner and thought - to my mind - which I cannot forgive. I do not profess such impudence and lack of refinement to be particular to Milton, specifically; I fear is it rife across all England, so perhaps I ought to have said that I find a certain vulgarity of manner in English men and not simply Milton men.' Oh! how she vexed him, but all the more he wanted her; delighted in her.

'You claim a right then, Miss Darrow, to be treated as a man? An equality?' he asked, unable to keep a small curl of the lips at bay.

'I do, sir. But not an equality with any man, but an equality with any man whose company I might share at any given time. If I were with one of your hands, I would claim the right to be treated by the weaver, as any male colleague. If I were with a party of Masters, I would claim the right to be treated at a Master. I won't be satisfied with a man of status yielding only in so much as to offer me the pittance that is the right of the lowest of men.'

'Oh!' trembled Mrs Hale, now greatly discomposed. 'What a thing to say.'

'No, Mamma!' begged Margaret, for she had sensed some silent communication pass between the two speakers, and did not wish to break the spell. Mr Thornton shook his head with an expression of irritated amusement, and turned to Mr Hale - partially to spite Isabel, for he knew it would irk her.

'It is no wonder to me that women are often thought such strange creatures by us men. For here is Miss Darrow, owning the right to be treated as a man, and then we have the genteel ladies or the flighty ladies, who want none of that - not one care for business or politics, but only dresses and dinners and who is who and what is what - and how is a man to understand it? A woman, who does not wish to be thought of as a woman!'

'I certainly would like to be thought of as a woman!' cried Isabel, indignantly. 'I am no whiskered man who sits about his port, congratulating himself on the very wisdom of his achieving the great feat of having been born a man and not a woman! I am a woman and readily acknowledge it. I claim only that a woman is no less than a man. I wish to be treated as a man because I believe myself a man's equal. If any man accepted that, he would treat me as a man whilst still thinking me a woman.'

'But, Isabel!' pleaded Mrs Hale, who was discomfited, but felt a pleasing surge of vigour at the very impropriety of the girl's speech. 'What lady would wish to take up a man's lot? We have our own interests and occupations. We need not have a man's. I hardly think any young lady would find a man's lot enticing.'

'Would you, Margaret?' asked Isabel, keenly, turning to her young friend. 'Do you truly say you are happy to sit about a needle and thread, hour after hour? Only to have your day broken up by the pouring of tea or perhaps a quick sketch? To be told where to walk and where not to walk, or what opinions to voice and what not to voice, where a man of equal status may do and say as he will?' And Margaret was in agreement; she was not fond of embroidery. She hardly played at all, and although she enjoyed painting, that alone did not fill a life with occupation.

'It is true; we are limited in how we choose to spend our time. To be afforded more freedom would be a blessing, but I must also own that I have no interest in business, and only a little more in politics.'

'But you would take an interest in the poor laws! Oh! you have an interest in politics - many women do - but we are kept so idle that we scarce know that men debate the very points upon which our feminine sensibilities dwell. No, I am convinced that if women were not kept low with the learning of only what I should call "soft" skills, and a want of occupation, that we would just as readily find interest in politics as any man would. A person can admire a fine dress and a great steam-powered machine; a liking for the one is not to the exclusion of the other.' Here Mr Hale interjected, for he did not quite agree with his goddaughter. He thought her naïve in her thinking, for he knew of no women who would take a true interest in matters of business or politics.

'My dear, I can readily agree that there are many young women who would wish for greater freedom, but to suppose that women be treated as equals in matters of business and politics is unfeasible. Where there is not the knowledge, the opinion cannot have the worth, and although I don't claim that a woman may not acquire such knowledge, I hardly think she would wish it, or find any enjoyment in it if she did.'

'But here I sit before you as an example, proving my very point. I - an educated woman - educated alongside and just as highly as men - am a doctor, and yet here - although I take great enjoyment from being a doctor - great personal satisfaction and pride, feeling it to be my purpose and one true accomplishment in life - here, in England, I may never hold a practice. I should be lucky to secure a role as a doctor's nurse, and then I should be left only to the menial tasks which don't use my skill, nor stir my pride. And yet in this very city - where the poor are sick and the injured forced to work through want of money - where the mills are so dangerous and accidents so rife - I feel I could make a difference, and yet society would not allow me. If I should offer my services without charge, still I would be shunned and held suspicious, and simply because of my sex.'

'You would work without pay? Do a man's job for free, just to prove your worth?' asked Mr Thornton, with a heavy frown.

'No, sir,' smiled Isabel, in defiance. 'I would do a doctor's job for free! And I would do it because I have the skill and require an occupation. I should not have to work for free, of course - not if I had any equality with men - but I should not mind the injustice, if I were tending to the poor. Indeed, if I could help others and occupy myself, that would be reward enough. I need not your man's money and I am certainly not entitled to it, for you pay your women less for doing the same work - just as diligently and with as much skill and efficiency - as you pay the men who labour for you. No! that is the vulgarity I find in Milton, but alas! I expect it's to be found in all places in such an archaic land.'

No, she had vexed him. He could listen, with a quick beating of the heart, to her spirited insinuation of her rights, and he could overlook the words which smarted him, for he verily believed she had known no other way, but now she had called into question his practices of business, and how he ran his mill. Those hands who sought to name their pay had been beyond his contempt, but there was an ignorance about them which meant he could not wholly despise them in their standing against them - they did not have it in them to see reason - but here sat his Isabel, learned and full of understanding, and yet she sought to trench upon his own sovereign domain by questioning the wages he thought to pay!

No less alarmed were the Hales, who had listened with a certain raptness of interest, for Margaret agreed with a fair portion of what she had heard, and Mr Hale - whilst discomfited - admired the way she put her case; the flow of the mind, and had always enjoyed a good debate. Even Mrs Hale - for all her deathly pallor - had enjoyed that pungent pang of repellence at the girl's harsh and forward speaking - for there is, within most of us, a certain enjoyment to be had in indignation; in feeling so utterly shocked or appalled, and Mrs Hale - now the frail invalid - had not the ready opportunity to feel such unbridled provocation, for all are cautious around those whom have been marked by Death.

Isabel had gone too far for all her company; she had spoken out against all the men of England, seemingly naming their collective party "The Oppressors", and now she looked upon the faces before her; saw the Hales, awkward and not without a nervous tremble, or Margaret's more restrained lowering of eyes and selfless flush of cheek, for the embarrassment she felt her new friend ought to feel. And Mr Thornton; he sat angry, caring not for the aspersions cast upon his homeland, but for her interference in his own affairs. He looked upon her coolly and a scathing silence filled the room.

She began an uncharacteristic fidget of vexation, and Mr Thornton thinking not to look at her - to drag his eyes away - came close to Mrs Hale's side and spoke low and tenderly, where Isabel had been all pungent spice. There came Mrs Hale's trembling entreaty that his mother might call upon her and soon. Mr Thornton promised that his mother would - if it was at all possible - and after passing with her some dainty words of comfort, took his leave without offering a single look upon Isabel in all her anxious mortification.

He thought he did not like seeing her, for now she only vexed him and every conversation soon became a quarrel. That had never been before; she had soothed and reasoned with a naïve assumption that he had not cared for her. That naivety had left her unguarded, and she had shown no caution in stirring within him, a warm regard for her. Now he saw - quite plainly - that she had been utterly unsuspecting of his feelings for her when his proposal came, for now that she was enlightened, she seemed only to want to antagonise him, as though to smite his love. And she succeeded in her antagonism of the man, but he would never quail, and he thought if her intention was to burn up his love for her, he would only love her all the more, just to spite her and deny her that small mercy, for all that she had vexed him.