"I beg your pardon, madam! I didn't observe—why, bless my soul! Isn't this little Maggie Varnum?" He had her by the hand. "My old friend's daughter!"
"Senator Dalgleish!" cried Margaret with such genuine delight that the little man beamed, Senator though he was. It is very charming for rotund middle age to find itself a source of pleasure to youthful grace and beauty. "How glad I am to see you again!"
"It has been a long, long time, has it not?—time for many things to happen." He sobered suddenly. "Your dear father—yes, yes! Well, it comes to us all." Then cheerfully, "You keep your girlish looks. Let me—see. You—are married?"
"Yes," Margaret said slowly,—"and widowed."
"Ah, very sad! very sad indeed!" The Senator shook his head several times, at a loss for appropriate words. These chance meetings after years develop such uncomfortable topics.
"Is Mrs. Dalgleish with you?" Margaret made no bid for his sympathy.
"No. She will be up after the holiday recess. In the meantime I am playing bachelor at the Raleigh. Don't like it either. There's nothing like home for an old fellow like me."
"Come out and dine with me to-morrow night," suggested Margaret, with a sudden inspiration. "I will give you a home-dinner and an old-fashioned Varnum welcome."
"Good! I'll do it. Seven, you say? All right. And the place?"
Margaret handed him her card. As she left him he looked at it. "H—m ... De Jarnette. Queer name. Seems as if I had heard it before. De Jarnette.... Well, by George, she's a mighty handsome widow!"