It was two weeks later, about the middle of March, when Corinne came in to see Margaret one afternoon with considerable suppressed excitement in her manner. Margaret was still confined to her bed, and, though scarcely so listless as she had seemed at first, she was undoubtedly weaker. Corinne's visits were now her mainstay of pleasure and interest, and she welcomed the girl with a glad little cry.
"I've got news for you, Honey!" said Corinne, laying her usual offering of flowers and fresh fruit on the bed.
"What?" cried Margaret, eagerly.
"Well, you mustn't be surprised, but Father hasn't been a bit well again, lately. The weather's awfully hard on him, and his business has rushed him, too, and he's all run down. So in a couple of weeks he's going to take a vacation and go down to Bermuda again. It did him a lot of good last time. He'll stay at least a month, and longer if he feels like it."
"Isn't that nice!" cried Margaret, with great interest. "I'm awfully sorry he doesn't feel well, but I'm glad he can go to such a lovely place and get better. You'll miss him though, won't you, Corinne, because you seem to be with him such a lot,—more than most girls are with their fathers!"
"No," said Corinne, slowly, "I won't miss him, because—I'm going with him!"
Margaret stared at her a moment wide-eyed, and her chin quivered—just a mere trifle. But she braced up with a visible effort and exclaimed:
"Oh, Corinne! how lovely! You certainly are a lucky girl!" Then the chin began to quiver harder, and all at once poor little Margaret completely lost control of herself, and buried her head in the pillow, sobbing:
"Oh, I am glad! I really am glad for you, Corinne! Don't mind this! Only it just seemed as though I couldn't live without you for so long!"