"Miss Fox?" she said, hurriedly, holding out her hand. "Oh, how do you do? Pray come in. Mrs. Peyton asked me to receive you,—I am a friend and neighbor,—and show you your room and make you comfortable. She has a bad headache, and does not feel able to welcome you herself."
She led the way into the dining-room, and rang the bell. "You will have lunch?" she said, "or would you rather have tea?"
"Tea, please," said the stranger; and her voice had a deep, musical note, that fell pleasantly on Margaret's ear.
"I am sorry Mrs. Peyton is unable to see me. Is it a real headache, or doesn't she want to?"
Margaret colored and hesitated. The blue eyes looked straight into hers with a compelling gaze; a gleam of comprehension seemed to lurk in their depths. Margaret was absolutely truthful, and, consequently, was sometimes at a loss when speaking of her invalid friend.
"Doctor Flower told me somewhat about her," Miss Fox went on. "He thinks—he wants me to rouse her to effort."
She spoke so quietly, her whole air was one of such calm and repose, that Margaret looked at her wonderingly.
"MARGARET DID THE HONORS, STILL FEELING VERY SHY."
"If Doctor Flower has explained the case to you," she said, at last, "you probably know more about it than I do. Mrs. Peyton often seems to suffer a great deal. She is fanciful, too, no doubt, at times; I suppose most invalids are."