The young man listened, and in a few short words Mrs. Arnold made known her plans.
"We will succeed or I am not what I think myself," said Mrs. Arnold, readjusting the spray of heliotrope that was displaced in her corsage.
"Adieu for the present, dear Hubert," said the latter, on seeing
Lord Melrose advancing to claim her for the next waltz.
"Ah, my fear truant, you have given me a world of anxiety. Why do you persist in such delightful methods of torture."
"Torture! Lord Melrose!" exclaimed the lady with an air of arch coquetry.
Meanwhile Marguerite Verne sat in the quiet of her own apartment. She had retired from the heated ball-room at an earlier hour than many of the guests. A wearied look rested upon the girl's face. She was heartily worn out with the excessive fatigue attending fashionable life.
"Well, it seems that I am fated for a martyr, and I must calmly submit," said she, loosening the luxuriant mass of silken hair that had been arranged to suit the most fastidious taste of Mrs. Arnold.
Donning a loose wrapper, and exchanging the pretty white satin slippers for a pair of soft morocco ones. Marguerite threw herself into a large and inviting arm-chair.
"I will not allow myself to think. My thoughts are rebellious," and immediately a pretty little pocket Testament found its way into the girl's hand.
A few words escaped Marguerite's lips as if an invocation was asked; then she read aloud the thirteenth chapter of Corinthians: "Though I speak with the tongue of men and angels," etc.