“I am afraid I must be rather a bête noir to Mr. Gaston.”
“It would seem so,” said Cousin Eugenia.
“I hope you will never call upon him to escort me anywhere, or do anything whatever for my entertainment,” Margaret continued. “I wish you would promise me not to.”
“With all my heart. I promise it as solemnly and bindingly as you like.”
At this point the footsteps were heard returning down the stairs, and again they paused outside.
“Can you come and take this?” the pleasant voice called softly.
“Open the door and hand it through a little crack,” Mrs. Gaston answered.
The knob was turned from without, and the door pushed open just wide enough to admit the entrance of a neatly done-up parcel, held in a large, finely formed hand.
Mrs. Gaston motioned to Margaret, who sat just behind the door, to take the parcel, and, not daring to protest, the girl moved forward and received it.
“Shake hands, in token of pardon for my slurs at the Importation,” the voice said, in a tone of quiet amusement, and Margaret, obeying another peremptory nod and glance from Mrs. Gaston, transferred the parcel to her left hand, and put her right one for a moment into that of Louis Gaston.