MARGIE'S VENTURE
[CHAPTER I.]
HARRY'S FAREWELLS.
THEY were a great contrast—these two—as they stood under the trees, in the deepening twilight of the shady garden.
She—Fay Grayling—very youthful-looking, even for her eighteen years, with her pretty, fair, flower-like face, her bright if somewhat shallow blue eyes, her light curly hair, and pouting red lips, which seemed like the unspent inheritance of childhood itself.
He—Harry Mayne—full ten years older—with his sturdy, well-developed manliness of form, his grave, earnest face, and quiet manner. The well-opened, steady eyes, and firm mouth and chin, spoke to force of character and tenacity of purpose; but there was gentleness too, and an infinite capacity for tenderness, in that dark, strong face.
Fay and Harry had plighted their mutual troth some few weeks before, and were now parting; for he was about to rejoin, as first officer, the big steamship which would carry him far away on a long year's cruise.
There were tears on Fay's round baby-cheeks as Harry at last unclasped from his arm the little hands that clung there.
"Time is going, dear; I must be off," he said firmly, though his lip quivered. "No, Fay, don't try to keep me. It is not true kindness, believe me, child. Where are your mother and sisters? I should like just to say good-bye to them. They have been so very good to me."