Margaret's face was pale as she bent toward him, her lips parted a
little, her eyes glinting eerily in the firelight. The room was dark
now save in the small radius of its amber glow; beyond that was
darkness where panels and brasses blinked.
"Yes," said Billy, gravely--"forgive me if I'm wrong, dear, but--I
do think that. But you see you don't care for me, Peggy. In the
summer-house I thought for a moment--ah, well, you've shown in a
hundred ways that you don't care--and I wouldn't have you come to me,
not caring. So I'm going to burn the paper, dear."
Margaret bowed her head. Had she ever known happiness before?