The first time I saw
Margaret I thought that she had a frank dignity about her. Her dress and shawl were
simple but she wore them with the same poise as the queen, when she wears her regalia. She was a
creature unlike any other I had encountered before and I was
captivated by her.
I worried that I did
not make any such favourable impression; more a rough hewn, taciturn
manufacturer.
My opinion of her grew
as different facets of her personality were shown to me.
First I saw her softer side and playfulness as she
allowed her father to use her fingers as sugar tongues.
Next I saw her compassion as she
continued to help the strikers. I also witnessed her courage to continue helping those in need, despite
scorn from others in our society.
Finally I saw her bravery as she
stepped between me and the rioters, risking her life to save mine. The fact that she was indifferent to me at that time only made the gesture even more profound, for who risks danger for one they do not like?
It's impossible to pick one single reason for why I love her but it's safe to say that the moment we first touched, as she handed me a cup and saucer, was the moment that I knew my heart belonged to her.
