Barbara listened and watched, puzzled indeed at this new Margaret. “Dear,” she said when her friend paused, evidently expecting comment, “it is very unlike you to hurt anyone. Couldn’t you add a little something that would soften the sting?”
With a shrug Margaret turned back to the desk and after a thoughtful moment, she again wrote a few lines. Then in a voice more like her own, she read:—“Since you were a close friend of my father, I regret that I must make a decision that may seem defiant, but surely you would not wish to have in your home a rebellious daughter and that is what I would be.
“Sincerely yours,
“Margaret Selover.”
Without waiting for further comment, the letter was sealed and stamped.
“I hope you are doing right, dear,” Barbara said; then, almost tearfully: “If you do go so far away, Vine Haven will be more desolate to me than the desert.”
“I’m not going!” Margaret remarked conclusively, then, springing up, she added. “Three bells! Time for French class and I haven’t even looked at those verbs.”
Together they left their room and descended the wide flight of stairs. “I’ll skip ahead and put this letter in the mail pouch,” Margaret declared; then, somewhat repentantly: “Really, Babs, I am sorry to hurt the feelings of the old man. Father often told me how much he admired Mr. Davis who was many years his senior. They owned some mining property together near Bisbee. In fact, I believe that my income is derived from that same copper mine even now. Well, someday soon I’ll send him another and a kindlier letter, but there isn’t time today, and he will, of course, be watching for an answer.”
But before the other letter was written, something very unexpected happened.