More keenly than ever now she regretted that she must bring sorrow to him in acknowledging her engagement to Bobby. She knew very well that he would not approve of the marriage. Had he not already pleaded with her to stay there at Hilcrest as Ned’s wife? And had he not always disapproved of her having much to say to McGinnis? It was hard, indeed, in the face of all this, to tell him. But it must be done. In two days now he was going back to the mills. There was really no excuse for any further delay. She must send for Bobby.
There was a thunder-storm on the night Bobby McGinnis came to Hilcrest. The young man arrived just before the storm broke, and was ushered at once by Margaret herself to the little den where Frank Spencer sat alone. Mrs. Merideth had gone to bed with a headache, and Ned was out of town, so Margaret had the house to herself. For a time she wandered aimlessly about the living-room and the great drawing-room; then she sat down in a shadowy corner which commanded a view of the library and of the door of the den. She shivered at every clap of thunder, and sent a furtive glance toward that close-shut door, wondering if the storm outside were typical of the one which even then might be breaking over Bobby’s head.
It was very late when McGinnis came out of the den and closed the door behind him—so late that he could stop for only a few words with the girl who hurried across the room to meet him. His face was gray-white, and his whole appearance showed the strain he had been under for the last two hours.
“Mr. Spencer was very kind,” he said huskily in response to the question in Margaret’s eyes. “At first, of course, he—but never mind that part.... He has been very kind; but I—I can’t tell you now—all that he said to me. Perhaps—some other time.” McGinnis was plainly very much moved. His words came brokenly and with long pauses.
For some time after her lover had gone Margaret waited for Frank Spencer to come out and speak to her. But the door of the den remained fast shut, and she finally went up-stairs without seeing him.
The next few days at Hilcrest were hard for all concerned. Before Margaret had come down stairs on the morning following McGinnis’s call, Frank Spencer had told his sister of the engagement; and after the first shock of the news was over, he had said constrainedly, and with averted eyes:
“There is just one thing for us to do, Della—or rather, for us not to do. We must not drive Margaret away from us. She has full right to marry the man she loves, of course, and if—if we are too censorious, it will result only in our losing her altogether. It isn’t what we want to do, but what we must do. We must accept him—or lose her. I—I’m afraid I forgot myself at first, last night,” went on Frank, hurriedly, “and said some pretty harsh things. I didn’t realize what I was saying until I saw the look on his face. McGinnis is a straightforward, manly young fellow—we must not forget that, Della.”
“But think of his po-position,” moaned Mrs. Merideth.
Frank winced.
“I know,” he said. “But we must do our best to remedy that. I shall advance him and increase his pay at once, of course, and eventually he will become one of the firm, if Margaret—marries him.”