“Temperaments differ,” the doctor replied, while Queenie thought to herself:
“Can it be possible that Margery takes it so to heart, and does she fear that it will make any difference in my love for her? It shall not, and I will prove it to her.”
After this Queenie took up her abode, for the time being, at the cottage, of which she was really the head, for Mrs. La Rue did nothing but sit by Margery and watch her with a pertinacity and earnestness which annoyed the sick girl, when she came to realize what was passing around her, and made her try to escape the steady gaze of those strange eyes always watching her.
“Do not look at me,” she said at last one day. “Move back, please, where I cannot see you.”
Without a word Mrs. La Rue moved back into the shadow, but did not leave the room, except at intervals to eat and sleep, and thus the whole charge of the cottage fell upon Reinette, who developed a wonderful talent for housekeeping, and saw to everything. Much of her time, however, was passed with Margery, on whom she lavished so much love that her caresses seemed at times to worry the sick girl, who would moan a little and shrink away from her.
“What is it, Margie, darling? Do I tire you?” Reinette asked her, one day, when they were alone for a few moments, and Margery had seemed uneasy and restless.
For a moment Margery did not answer, but lay with her eyes shut while the great tears rolled down her cheeks; then, suddenly raising herself in bed, she threw her arms around Reinette’s neck and sobbed:
“Oh, Queenie, Queenie, you do not know, I cannot tell you how much I love you, more than I ever did before, and yet I am so sorry; but you will love me always, whatever happens, won’t you?”
“Why, yes, Margery. What can happen, and why shouldn’t I love you?” Queenie asked, as she held the beautiful golden head against her bosom, and kissed the quivering lips. “Margery,” she continued, “do you feel so badly because of your mother’s silence! She has explained it to me, and I am satisfied. Don’t let that trouble you anymore. No others beside ourselves need know who she is, and thus all talk and comment will be spared.”
“I know, I know,” Margery replied, “but, Queenie, you told me you believed there was something else-some other reason, and you meant to write to France; do you mean it still? Will you try to find it out?”