“Margaret! What can this mean?” said Decourcy, in a tone of surprised reproach.
Miss Trevennon gave a little, constrained laugh.
“I don’t like that sort of thing,” she said, lightly. “Don’t do it again. It’s unpleasant to me.”
“Forgive me,” he answered, with the utmost gentleness, untinged by any shade of pique. “I beg your pardon. I am very sorry.”
“Oh, never mind! It doesn’t matter,” said Margaret, hurriedly. “Thank you so much for the locket, Alan. It is lovely—far lovelier than I have any idea of, I dare say, for I am so ignorant about such things.”
“I hoped it would please you,” he said. “You saw the picture I ventured to put in it? And will you consent to wear it?”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, somewhat uneasily. “It was very kind of you to put it in, but I never have worn any one’s picture. I know you’re a cousin, and all that, but I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll take the picture out and put it——”
But he interrupted her.
“It isn’t because I am your cousin, Margaret, that I want you to wear my picture,” he said. “On the contrary, I hope for the time when you will forget that relationship in a nearer and tenderer one——”
“Alan! Stop. You must not go on,” said Margaret, with sudden vehemence. “There can be no thought of a nearer relationship between us at any time. If we are to be friends at all, this subject must not be mentioned again.”