ut into her voice.

He laughed for a long time.

"Pauline, you villain, it's the beginning of Margaret's face!"

She clapped her hands.

"Oh, Richard, aren't I a villain? But, you know, it's not very
frightfully like anything, is it?"

"Pauline," he said, suddenly, in that sharp voice in which two years ago
he had intrusted his interests to her before he went away--"Pauline, is
Margaret going to marry me?"

"Why, of course she is, Richard!"

"Has she spoken to you about me?"

"But you know she never speaks about her own affairs and that she can't
bear anybody else to speak of them to her."

"Then how do you know?" he asked.

"Well, perhaps because I'm so much in love with Guy," Pauline
whispered.

"I don't see how that quite works. I'm a very dull sort of chap after
that Guy of yours."

"But you're not at all," Pauline declared. "And if you take my advice
you won't think you're dull. You'll make Margaret marry you. Really, I'm
sure that what she would like best is to be made to do something. You
see, she's a darling, but she is just a very tiny little bit spoiled.
You mustn't be so patient with her. But, Richard dear, I know she loves
you, because she practically told Guy that she did."

"Guy?" he echoed, looking rather indignant.

"Well, you must understand how sweet Margaret was to him about me. She
was so sympathetic, and really she practically brought about our
engagement. Oh, I do love her so, Richard, and I do want her to be
happy, and I do know so dreadfully well that you are the very person to
make her happy."

"Pauline, you are a pink brick," he avowed.

And scarcely another word did he say for the rest of their walk.

Pauline went to Margaret's room that night and, after fidgeting all the
while her sister was undressing, suddenly plunged down beside her bed
and caught hold of her hand.

"Margaret, you're not to snub me, because I absolutely must speak. I
must beg you not to keep Richard waiting any longer. Do, my darling,
darling Margaret, do be kind to him and not so cold. He simply adores
you, and.... Why, Margaret, you're crying!... Oh, let me kiss you, my
Margaret, because you were so wonderful about Guy, and I've been a beast
to you and you must, you must be happy."

"If I could only love him as you love Guy," Margaret sighed between her
tears.

"You do really ... at least perhaps not _quite_ as much. Oh, Margaret,
don't be angry with me if I whisper something to you; think how