“No, Mrs. Houston, I am not.”
“If not to Franky, to whom then? It cannot be to your father or Ralph, for they have just left you. Come! this is getting interesting! Who is your correspondent, little one? Your old duenna insists upon knowing.”
Margaret turned pale, but remained silent.
“Dear me, how mysterious you are! My curiosity is growing irresistible! Who is it?”
Margaret suddenly burst into tears.
This brought the heedless little lady to her senses. She hastened to soothe and apologize.
“Why, Margaret, my dear child! Why, Margaret! Dear me, how sorry I am! I am very sorry, Margaret! What a thoughtless chatterbox I am of my age! But then I was only teazing you to rouse you a little, my dear! I did not mean to hurt you! And then I had such a pleasant surprise for you. Forgive me.”
Margaret slipped her left hand into Mrs. Houston’s (her right was still pressed upon the letter), and said:
“Forgive me. It is I who am nervous and irritable and require sufferance. You are very, very kind to me in all things, and I feel it.”
The little lady stooped and kissed her, saying: