He had seen Mrs. Linwood and Edith in Boston. They were both well, and looking anxiously forward to the summer reunion at Grandison Place. Dr. Harlowe sent me many characteristic messages,—telling me my little rocking-chair was waiting for me at my favorite window, and that he had not learned to rub his shoes on the mat, or to hang up his hat yet.
"Does he call me the wild-cat, still?" asked Madge.
"I believe so. He told me to say that he had his house repaired, so that you could visit him without endangering Mrs. Harlowe's china."
"The monster! Well, he shall give me a new name, when I see him again. But tell me, Mr. Regulus, who is the very dignified and excellent gentleman whom mamma says is coming to escort me home? I have been expiring with curiosity to know."
"I do not know of any one answering to that description, Miss Margaret," replied Mr. Regulus, blushing, and passing his hands over his knees. "I saw your mother at Mrs. Linwood's; and when she learned I was coming to this city, she said she would be very much obliged to me, if I would take charge of you, on my return."
"Then you did not come on purpose for me, Mr. Regulus," said Madge, with a saucy smile.
"Oh no,—I had business, and a very earnest desire to see my young friend, Gabriella. If I can, however, combine the useful with the agreeable, I shall be very well pleased."
"By the useful, you mean, seeing me safe in my mamma's arms," said Madge, demurely.
"Certainly, Miss Margaret."
Even Ernest laughed at this peculiar compliment; and Madge bit her lips, half in vexation, half in merriment. I hardly knew what to think of Margaret. She was certainly the most eccentric being I ever saw. She, who seemed to care for the opinion of no one,—reckless, defying, and apparently heartless, showed more deference for Mr. Regulus, more solicitude for his attention, than I had ever seen her manifest for another's. Was it possible that this strange, wild girl, was attracted by the pure, unvarnished qualities of this "great grown boy," as Dr. Harlowe called him? It is impossible to account for the fascination which one being exercises over another; and from the days of Desdemona to the present hour, we seldom hear of an approaching marriage, without hearing at the same time some one exclaim, "that it is strange,—most passing strange."