“And—?” he queried.
A sudden gravity settled over her face, as she replied, “There is no one now to call me Margaret or Margie. Auntie’s name for me sort of sticks. But I suppose it’s all right. I’m not big enough to be entitled to the big, dignified name of Margaret.”
“When I know you well enough, I shall call you Margie,” Robert said confidently.
[CHAPTER III.]
“A child of our grandmother Eve, a female;
or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman.”
The life which opened up for Robert Malloy was so full of surprises, new sensations and experiences, that he was both bewildered and delighted.
His uncle watched him hopefully, his mother anxiously. There could be no doubt that she would have welcomed anything which would turn her son from his desire, but she was paradoxically jealous for the strength of character and singleness of purpose which had determined him for the life which would take him from her. Also, she could not be certain that he would be happy, should he walk into the trap so obviously set for him by his uncle.
A few weeks after they reached Valencia she had a chance to study Meg more closely, and to obtain an insight into the character of the girl who puzzled her, and who very evidently attracted her son. There was something so subtle and elusive about her, that Mrs. Malloy, with her ear attuned to simplicity and directness, had not been able to form an opinion concerning her.
She had taken a favorite book and started for a quiet spot in the woods adjoining her brother’s place, when she met Meg. The girl flushed with pleasure when Mrs. Malloy asked her to join her. There was little said by either as they walked along, yet there was no constraint. Finally Mrs. Malloy turned to her companion and said smilingly, “I believe you are one of those rare persons who are good company without saying a word.”