"And it is a comfort to me to have seen and spoken with you once again," said she; "because having done you an injustice, in my thoughts, I am glad to tell you so. I am pleased to think that you acted as I should have most desired, had I known the facts which were so cruelly perverted to me. But still—I hope," she added, as she rose to go, "that as I must remain here for the present, you will not often come to the house, because the sight of you reminds me too forcibly of those old times."
How exquisitely graceful she looked; with that imploring attitude—that bashful entreaty in her gesture.
"But, I don't understand—" he said, detaining her.
"No—it is a long story," said Margaret sadly.
"But why not tell it me? Have I not a right to know it? I, who love you better than any-thing in the world?"
Her smiles came back—her blushes.
"If you wish it," she said, "only not now. Still I must say for myself, that every one believed as I did. Even your friends here, entirely thought so till Mrs. Fitzpatrick set them right."
"But—believed what?"
"That you were engaged to Miss Fitzpatrick."
"What—engaged—and when? Good Heavens! And you, Margaret—to Miss Fitzpatrick! How could you believe such an incredible lie?"