dily. "It is
a mighty fine morning, and you need to get out," he said. Poor Wilbur
at this time felt guiltily culpable that he did not own a motor car
in which his Margaret might take the air. He had tried to see his way
clear toward buying one, but in spite of a certain improvidence, the
whole nature of the man was intrinsically honest. He always ended his
conference with himself concerning the motor by saying that he could
not possibly keep it running, even if he were to manage the first
cost, and pay regularly his other bills. He, however, felt it to be a
shame to himself that it was so, and experienced a thrill of positive
pain of covetousness, not for himself, but for his Margaret, when one
of the luxurious things whirled past him in Fairbridge. He, it was
true, kept a very smart little carriage and horse, but that was not
as much as Margaret should have. Every time Margaret seemed a little
dull, or complained of headache, as she had done lately, he thought
miserably of that motor car, which was her right. Therefore when she
planned any little trip like that of to-day, he was immeasurably
pleased. At the same time he regarded her with a slightly bewildered
expression, for in some subtle fashion, her face as she propounded
the trifling plan, looked odd to him, and her voice also did not
sound quite natural. However, he dismissed the idea at once as mere
fancy, and watched proudly the admiring glances bestowed upon her in
the Fairbridge station, while they were waiting for the train.
Margaret had a peculiar knack in designing costumes which were at
once plain and striking. This morning she wore a black China silk,
through the thin bodice of which was visible an under silk strewn
with gold disks. Her girdle was clasped with a gold buckle, and when
she moved there were slight glimpses of a yellow silk petticoat. Her
hat was black, but under the brim was tucked a yellow rose against
her yellow hair. Then to finish all, Margaret wore in the lace at her
throat, a great brooch of turquoise matrix, which matched her eyes.
Her husband realised her as perfectly attired, although he did not in
the least understand why. He knew that his Margaret looked a woman of
another race from the others in the station, in their tailored
skirts, and shirtwaists, with their coats over arm, and their
shopping bags firmly clutched. It was a warm morning, and feminine
Fairbridge's idea of a suitable costume for a New York shopping trip
was a ta