A flush of pleasure rose to Margaret’s face.
“I never saw anything half so lovely,” she said, handling them delightedly. “To think of your taking the trouble! I suspect my shabby little books offended your fastidious taste. I never dreamed of your remembering me in this kind way. I wish I had a present for you.”
“You might give me the old ones, perhaps,” he said, hesitatingly. “I should think it a munificent return, for, as you say, they are worn and shabby, and that comes only from much using. How often they have been in your hands when your thoughts were away with God! I should like to keep them as a souvenir of you. May I, if you don’t particularly value them?”
“I should be only too glad for you to have them,” said Margaret, in a low voice. “Only I did not think you would care for anything like that. I asked Cousin Eugenia once what church your family belonged to, and she said you called yourselves Unitarians, but practically you were pagans. I couldn’t help hoping it was not really true—of you at least.”
“It isn’t in the least true of me,” he said, frowning, and looking so displeased that Margaret was almost sorry she had spoken. “I would not, for anything, have you to suppose me an irreligious man, for it is not true, and I never even called myself a Unitarian. On the contrary, I was wishing a little while ago that I could go with you to church, so that you and I might keep this day holy together.”
“Do,” said Margaret, earnestly. “I have seen that you do not very often go. Go with us to-day, and make a resolve for better things in future. You would be so wise to do it.”
“I don’t think I will go this morning,” he said; “Eugenia has not room for me in the coupé. But will you let me take you to-night? We will walk, perhaps, if it remains fine, and the music will be lovely. Perhaps, if we’re lucky, they will get some good voice to sing the Cantique de Noël.”
“I love that so dearly,” Margaret said. “I shall be delighted to go with you.”
A little sigh rose, as she spoke. This was one of Charley Somers’ favorites; she had taken pains to see that he sang it correctly, and his voice was trained to it beautifully.
Her reflections were cut short by the appearance of Mrs. Gaston, who swept down the steps, elaborately arrayed in furs and velvets, and signified her readiness to set out.