"I am a Clendenning, my dear; that is all," she answered, slowly.
Margaret stared at her with wide-open eyes. That a life should be wrecked for a mere question of family pride was something her mind could not fathom.
"Have you regretted it since, Cousin Lavinia?" she asked, calmly. She wanted to follow it out now to the end.
Miss Clendenning heaped the broken coals closer together, laid the tongs back in their place on the fender, and, turning to Margaret, said, with a sigh:
"Don't ask me, my dear. I never dare ask myself, but do you keep your hand close in Oliver's. Remember, dear, close—close! Then you will never know the bitterness of a lonely life."
She rose from her seat, bent down, and, taking Margaret's cheeks between her palms, kissed her on the forehead.
Margaret put her arms about the little lady, and was about to draw her nearer, when the front door opened and a step was heard in the hall. Miss Lavinia raised herself erect, listening to the sound.
"Hark!" she cried, "there's the dear fellow, now"—and she advanced to meet him, her gentle countenance once more serene.
Oliver's face as he entered the room told the story.
"Not worse?" Margaret exclaimed, starting from her chair.