ut of the
way. I think it speaks very well for you that you're so fond of your
old home--so anxious to regain it at _any_ cost. It's quite touching,
Mr. Woods."

She raised her eyes toward his. I dare say she was suffering as much
as he. But women consider it a point of honour to smile when they
stab; Margaret smiled with an innocence that would have seemed
overdone in an angel.

Then, in an instant, she had the grace to be abjectly ashamed of
herself. Billy's face had gone white. His mouth was set, mask-like,
and his breathing was a little perfunctory. It stung her, though, that
he was not angry. He was sorry.

"I--I see," he said, very carefully. "You think I--want the money.
Yes--I see."

"And why not?" she queried, pleasantly. "Dear me, money's a very
sensible thing to want, I'm sure. It makes a great difference, you
know."

He looked down into her face for a moment. One might have sworn this
detected fortune-hunter pitied her.

"Yes," he assented, slowly, "it makes a difference--not a difference
for the better, I'm afraid, Peggy."

Ensued a silence.

Then Margaret tossed her head. She was fast losing her composure.
She would have given the world to retract what she had said, and
accordingly she resolved to brazen it out.

"You needn't look at me as if I were a convicted criminal," she said,
sharply. "I won't marry you, and there's an end of it."

"It isn't that I'm thinking of," said Mr. Woods, with a grave smile.
"You see, it takes me a little time to realise your honest opinion
of me. I believe I understand now. You think me a very hopeless
cad--that's about your real opinion, isn't it, Peggy? I didn't know
that, you see. I thought you knew me better than that. You did once,
Peggy--once, a long time ago, and--and I hoped you hadn't quite
forgotten that time."

The allusion was ill chosen.

"Oh, oh, _oh!_" she cried, gasping. "_You_ to remind me of that
time!--you of all men. Haven't you a vestige of shame? Haven't you
a rag of honour left? Oh, I didn't know there were such men in the
world! And to think--to think--" Margaret's glorious voice broke, and
she wrung her hands helplessly.

Then, after a little, she raised her eyes to his, and spoke without
a trace of emotion. "To think," she said, and her voice was toneless
now, "to think that I loved you! It's that that hurts, you know. For I
loved you very dearly, Billy Woods--yes, I think I loved you quite as
much as any woman can ever love a ma