"How distressing!" said Margaret, waving her head to and fro, until her eyes settled on a window of the hotel.
"But do control yourself. I think that is Harriet—I beg pardon—Mrs. Stacy, at the window, and your grief may remind her of her loss."
"Mrs. Stacy! Mrs. Stacy!" faltered Matthew. "Miss Maggie, would you have any objection to stepping a little this way? It is so unpleasant for a young lady of your refinement to stand directly in front of a hotel filled with gentlemen. Beauty like yours is sure to bring them to the windows in swarms, as one may observe, and I—I have enough of the old feeling left to be jealous, miserably jealous when any man dares to look upon you."
"But I come to call on your wife, Mr. Stacy."
"She is not at home, I do assure you. She has been shopping since—since day before yesterday."
Margaret's eyes twinkled.
"Then, perhaps, I had better go up, and wait for her?"
Margaret was bright, but even here her old lover proved equal to the occasion.
"My dear Maggie—excuse me, Miss Casey—I do assure you my lady has taken the parlor-key with her. She will be so disappointed at not seeing you!"
"It is unfortunate," said Maggie, playing with her parasol; "because I was in hopes of having a few words with you, and that would be improper, I fear, without her."