ways notable, became almost startling;
there was a new glow in her cheeks and lips, new fire in the dark
lashed eyes that were so charming a contrast to her bright hair. Like
a pair of joyous and irresponsible children she and John Tenison
walked through the days, too happy ever to pause and ask themselves
whither they were going.

Then abruptly it ended. Victoria, brought down from school in
Switzerland with various indications of something wrong, was in a
flash a sick child; a child who must be hurried home to the only
surgeon in whom Mrs. Carr-Boldt placed the least trust. There was
hurried packing, telephoning, wiring; it was only a few hours after
the great German physician's diagnosis that they were all at the
railway station, breathless, nervous, eager to get started.

Doctor Tenison accompanied them to the station, and in the five
minutes' wait before their train left, a little incident occurred, the
memory of which clouded Margaret's dreams for many a day to come.
Arriving, as they were departing, were the St. George Allens, noisy,
rich, arrogant New Yorkers, for whom Margaret had a special dislike.
The Allens fell joyously upon the Carr-Boldt party, with a confusion
of greetings. "And Jack Tenison!" shouted Lily Allen, delightedly.
"Well, what fun! What are you doing here?"

"I'm feeling a little lonely," said the professor, smiling at
Mrs. Carr-Boldt.

"Nothing like that; unsay them woyds," said Maude Allen, cheerfully.
"Mamma, make him dine with us! Say you will."

"I assure you I was dreading the lonely evening," John Tenison said
gratefully. Margaret's last glimpse of his face was between Lily's
pink and cherry hat, and Maude's astonishing headgear of yellow straw,
gold braid, spangled quills, and calla lilies. She carried a secret
heartache through the worried fortnight of Victoria's illness, and the
busy days that followed; for Mrs. Carr-Boldt had one of many nervous
break-downs, and took her turn at the hospital when Victoria came
home. For the first time in five happy years, Margaret drooped, and
for the first time a longing for money and power of her own gnawed at
the girl's heart. If she had but her share of these things, she could
hold her own against a hundred Maude and Lily Allens.

As it was, she told herself a little bitterly, she was only a
secretary, one of the hundred paid dependents of a rich woman. She was
only, after all, a little middle-class country school teacher.

CHAPTER