The new year came, with a dance and
revel, and the Pagets took one of their long tramps through the snowy
afternoon, and came back hungry for a big dinner. Then there was
dressmaking,--Mrs. Schmidt in command, Mrs. Paget tireless at the
machine, Julie all eager interest. Margaret, patiently standing to be
fitted, conscious of the icy, wet touch of Mrs. Schmidt's red fingers
on her bare arms, dreamily acquiescent as to buttons or hooks, was
totally absent in spirit.

A trunk came, Mr. Paget very anxious that the keys should not be
"fooled with" by the children. Margaret's mother packed this trunk
scientifically. "No, now the shoes, Mark--now that heavy skirt," she
would say. "Run get mother some more tissue paper, Beck. You'll have
to leave the big cape, dear, and you can send for it if you need it.
Now the blue dress, Ju. I think that dyed so prettily, just the thing
for mornings. And here's your prayer book in the tray, dear; if you go
Saturday you'll want it the first thing in the morning. See, I'll put
a fresh handkerchief in it--"

Margaret, relaxed and idle, in a rocker, with Duncan in her lap busily
working at her locket, would say over and over:--

"You're all such angels,--I'll never forget it!" and wish that,
knowing how sincerely she meant it, she could feel it a little more.
Conversation languished in these days; mother and daughters feeling
that time was too precious to waste speech of little things, and that
their hearts were too full to touch upon the great change impending.

A night came when the Pagets went early upstairs, saying that, after
all, it was not like people marrying and going to Russia; it was not
like a real parting; it wasn't as if Mark couldn't come home again in
four hours if anything went wrong at either end of the line.
Margaret's heart was beating high and quick now; she tried to show
some of the love and sorrow she knew she should have felt, she knew
that she did feel under the hurry of her blood that made speech
impossible. She went to her mother's door, slender and girlish in her
white nightgown, to kiss her good-night again. Mrs. Paget's big arms
went about her daughter. Margaret laid her head childishly on her
mother's shoulder. Nothing of significance was said. Margaret
whispered, "Mother, I love you!" Her mother said, "You were such a
little thing, Mark, when I kissed you one day, without hugging you,
and you said, 'Please don't love me just with your face, Mother, love
me