le.
It seems to me now that it would be quite as bad, if not worse, to break
faith with you."

Still Eleanor did not give way. Her conscience did not need to speak very
loudly for her to hear it telling her that in accepting Margaret's offer
she was doing a very wrong thing. In her heart of hearts she had known
all along that their plot was inexcusable from every point of view, and
that when it came to be known most of the blame would be laid at her
door, not only because she was the elder and the more worldly wise of the
two, but because most people would consider that she had been the one to
profit most by the exchange. But she had been carried away by Margaret's
urgent pleadings and persuasions and had finally suppressed her
misgivings and consented to the plot. Now, however, the case was altered.
It was only out of a spirit of pure self-sacrifice that Margaret was
urging her to continue to bear her name, and she knew that in yielding
she would be guilty of great selfishness.

"Think of your singing lessons with Madame Martelli," said Margaret,
who was quietly watching the struggle with herself to which Eleanor's
changing face bore eloquent witness.

That clenched the matter. Eleanor gave in; but this time it was she who
found it difficult to meet Margaret's eyes.

"Oh, Margaret," she said, "if you appeal to my ambition my better self
goes under. I accept, then; but you're a brick, a perfect brick, and I
feel too mean for words."

CHAPTER XI

A PRACTICAL JOKE

Three weeks had passed since Margaret had paid her first visit to Eleanor
at Windy Gap, and during those three weeks she had kept steadily to her
word and was impersonating Eleanor as well as she could at The Cedars.
And as the days went by her task grew easier. She seemed to have slipped
into her place as a member of the household, and though it was a very
insignificant niche indeed that she filled, she did not mind that at all,
for she was aware that the more she kept in the background the less
chance there was of her secret being discovered. Perhaps on the whole,
too, she was happier than she had been during the first three or four
days. Of course, as she told herself seriously, she ought not, when once
her eyes had been opened to the wrongfulness of the deceit she was
practising, to have known a single happy moment, but somehow she found it
difficult always to feel ashamed and contrite, especially when she was
playing croquet with Edward. F