Her face flushed. Her eyes shone with interest.
"Oh! then you must be his Margaret?" she cried.
As the words left Miss Sonnot's lips she gazed at me with a half-frightened little air as if she regretted their utterance.
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Graham," she said contritely; "you must think
I have taken leave of my senses. But I have heard so much about you."
"From Mr. Bickett?" My head was whirling. I had never heard Jack speak the name of "Sonnot." Indeed, I would never have known he had met her, save for the accidental opening of her scrap book to his picture when she and I were searching for chafing dish recipes.
"Oh! No, indeed. I have never seen Mr. Bickett myself."
A rosy embarrassed flush stole over her face as she spoke. Her eyes were starry. Through my bewilderment came a thought which I voiced.
"That is his loss then. He would think so if he could see you now."
She laughed confusedly while the rosy tint of her cheeks deepened.
"I must explain to you," she said simply. "I have never seen Mr. Bickett, but my brother is one of his friends. They used to correspond, and I enjoyed his letters as much as Mark did. I think his is a wonderful personality, don't you?"