“That’s a piece of nonsense of Louis’, my dear,” she said. “It’s a cheap little mission chapel, built by a very poor congregation in a wretched part of the town. The Travers girls got Louis interested in it, and he made them the designs and estimates and superintends its erection. Of course he charged them nothing; in fact, I believe he subscribed a good deal toward it himself. He is amused at the idea of their calling it ‘All Saints,’ and making it such a comprehensive memorial. He and his partner have designed some really beautiful buildings here, however, which I will show you. Louis is very clever, don’t you think so?”
“I hardly feel able to judge, yet,” said Margaret, “but if you say so, I will believe it, for since I’ve been with you, Cousin Eugenia, I begin to think I never knew any one before who was clever.”
“Why are you always forcing one to remind you of your ignorance, child?” retorted Mrs. Gaston, laughing lightly. “This is the most convincing proof we have had of it yet.”
As Margaret went up to say good-night, she felt a strong impulse to express some of the ever-ready affection which her cousin’s kindness had awakened in her heart; but Cousin Eugenia was a woman to whom it was very hard to be affectionate, and she thwarted her young cousin’s intention now by turning her cheek so coolly that the ardent words died on the girl’s lips. Mrs. Gaston was naturally unsympathetic, and it almost seemed as if she cultivated the quality. However that might be, it was certain that, at the end of a month spent in daily companionship with this bright and agreeable cousin, Margaret was obliged to admit to herself that she had not taken one step toward the intimate friendship she would have liked to establish between them. Her cousin was kindness itself, and always companionable and agreeable, but she was scarcely ever really serious, although she had at hand a reserve of decorous gravity which she could always draw upon when occasion required.
CHAPTER IV.
“EUGENIA,” said Louis Gaston, tapping at his sister-in-law’s door one morning, “I stopped to say that I will get tickets for Miss Trevennon and yourself for the opera Monday evening, if you say so.”
“I don’t say so, my dear Louis, I assure you,” returned Mrs. Gaston opening her door and appearing before him in a tasteful morning toilet. “If you take Margaret and me to the opera, it must be for your own pleasure; she is not the kind of guest to hang heavily on her hostess’ hands. I’ve never been at a loss for her entertainment for a moment since she has been here, and what is more, scarcely ever for my own. I find myself quite equal to the task of providing for her amusement, and so it has not been difficult for me to keep my promise of not calling upon you in her behalf.”
“You certainly never made me any such promise as that, and it would have been very absurd if you had.”