Margery did not reply, but she was glad her companion could not see the pallor which by the faint, sick feeling at her heart, she knew was spreading over her face. Just then lights were brought in by Pierre, and in a moment the supper which the girls took together at that hour appeared, and was arranged upon a little round table, which was drawn near to Margery’s easy-chair.
“This is so nice,” Queenie said, “and carries me back to Chateau des Fleurs, when we were little girls, and used to play at make believe. Do you remember it, Margie?”
“Yes, yes; I remember; I have forgotten nothing connected with you,” Margery replied, and Queenie went on:
“I made believe so much that you were I, and I was you, that I used at times to feel as if it were real, and that my rightful home was up in Number Forty, in the Rue St. Honore. And once I dreamed that I was actually there, alone with the cat, and had to sweep the floor and wash the dishes as you used to do.”
“And how did you like it?” Margery asked.
“How did I like it?” Queenie repeated, “I did not like it at all. I rebelled against it with all my might. I thought I was wearing the apron which you wore the first time I ever saw you, and I dreamed I wrenched it off and tore it into shreds, and was going to throw myself out of the window, when my maid woke me and asked what was the matter that I cried out so in my sleep. I told her I was Margery La Rue, living in Rue St. Honore, and wearing coarse clothes, and she could not pacify me till she brought my prettiest dress, and showed it to me, with my turquoise ring, papa’s last present. That made me Reinette Hetherton again, and I grew calm and quiet. It was very foolish in me, was it not?”
Margery did not answer at once, but sat looking at her friend, while the drops of perspiration stood thickly on her forehead and about her mouth, and at last attracted Queenie’s notice.
“What is it, Margery?” she said. “Are you too warm? Let me put a screen between you and the fire.”
The screen was brought, and, wiping the drops of sweat away, Margery rallied and tried to seem cheerful and natural, though all the time there was a terrible pain tugging at her heart as she kept whispering to herself, “God help me to keep my vow.”
That evening Mr. Beresford called, and was admitted to Margery’s sitting-room. He had not seen her before since her illness, though he had sent to inquire for her several times, and had heard various reports with regard to the cause of her sudden attack. He had heard that she had dropped to the floor in a fit, and had been taken up for dead, and that overwork and loss of sleep was the cause assigned. But, shrewd and far-seeing as he was, Mr. Beresford did not believe in the overwork and loss of sleep. As nearly as he could calculate, the fainting fit had come on about two hours after Reinette’s interview with Mrs. La Rue.