cross
lights. "Oh, well," said Martha Wallingford, "of course, I don't know
what may happen if I live to be old, as old as you."

Margaret Edes felt like a photograph proof before the slightest
attempt at finish had been made. Those keen young eyes conveyed the
impression of convex mirrors. She restrained an instinctive impulse
to put a hand before her face, she had an odd helpless sensation
before the almost brutal, clear-visioned young thing. Again she
shrank a little from her task, again her spirit reasserted itself.
She moved and brought her face somewhat more into the shadow. Then
she spoke again. She wisely dropped the subject of feminine
affinities. She plunged at once into the object of her visit, which
directly concerned Miss Martha Wallingford, and Margaret, who was as
astute in her way as the girl, knew that she was entirely right in
assuming that Martha Wallingford was more interested in herself than
anything else in the world.

"My dear," she said, "I may as well tell you at once why I intruded
upon you this morning."

"Please do," said Martha Wallingford.

"As I said before, I deeply regret that I was unable to bring some
well-known person, Mrs. Fay-Wyman, for instance, to make us
acquainted in due form, but--"

"Oh, I don't care a bit about that," said Martha. "What is it?"

Margaret again started a little. She had not expected anything like
this. The mental picture which she had formed of Martha Wallingford,
the young literary star, seemed to undergo a transformation akin to
an explosion, out of which only one feature remained intact--the
book, "_Hearts Astray_." If Miss Wallingford had not possessed a
firm foundation in that volume, it is entirely possible that Margaret
might have abandoned her enterprise. As it was, after a little gasp
she went on.

"I did so wish to assure you in person of my great admiration for
your wonderful book," said she. Martha Wallingford made no reply. She
had an expression of utter acquiescence in the admiration, also of
having heard that same thing so many times, that she was somewhat
bored by it. She waited with questioning eyes upon Margaret's face.

"And I wondered," said Margaret, "if you would consider it too
informal, if I ventured to beg you to be my guest at my home in
Fairbridge next Thursday and remain the weekend, over Sunday. It
would give me so much pleasure, and Fairbridge is a charming little
village and there are really many interesting people t