“‘To whom it may concern,’” she read aloud. “‘Whereas, I, the Undersigned, being in my sane Mind do intend to commit Matremony.’ Why, Harry, what in the world is this?” she demanded.
“Go on,—read,” returned the doctor, with a nonchalant wave of his hand; and Mrs. Kendall dropped her eyes again to the paper.
“Harry, what in the world does this mean?” she gasped a minute later as she finished reading, half laughing, half crying, and wholly amazed.
“But that is exactly what I was going to ask you,” parried the doctor.
“You don’t mean that Margaret wrote—but she couldn’t; besides, it isn’t her writing.”
“No, Margaret didn’t write it. For that part I think I detect the earmarks of young McGinnis. At all events, it came from him.”
“Bobby?”
“Yes.”
“But who——” Mrs. Kendall stopped abruptly. A dawning comprehension came into her eyes. “You mean—Harry, she was at the bottom of it! I remember now. It was only a week or two ago that she used those same words to me. She insisted that you would beat me and—and bang me ’round. Oh, Margaret, Margaret, my poor little girl!”
The doctor smiled; then he shook his head gravely.