"Eve! Spare me!" exclaimed Marguerite, turning deadly pale.
"Yes, my dear—I knew full well that you could not make such a sacrifice. Why did I mention it. Forgive me, dear Madge, I shall never mention the subject again. I told Hubert that I knew it was useless for him to urge the suit."
"And he has spoken of it lately?" cried Marguerite.
"Not later than this morning, my dear. He called a few moments after you went away, and seemed to be in great distress at papa's misfortune. Poor fellow, he was deeply moved, and said that if you would only consent to be his wife that his immense fortune would be at your entire control. What a pity, dear Madge, that you cannot treat him as he deserves—he is such a generous-hearted fellow."
Marguerite Verne was, indeed, an object of pity as she sat with her eyes fixed upon the wall opposite, while a look of anguish now settled down upon her features, and made them rigid as death.
"Don't worry, darling. I cannot bear to see you thus. If Hubert Tracy is not willing to settle papa's affairs without sacrificing your happiness, why let it go. Papa may get over it, and if he has to face the world and earn his living by drudgery, it may do him good in the end; if not, we cannot help it, my dear: So don't worry any longer." And Mrs. Arnold swept across the room with the air of an empress, while with her lace handkerchief she wiped the tears from Marguerite's eyes.
"Has Hubert Tracy the full control of his estates, Eve?"
"Yes, Madge. He has had ever since his uncle died, which was more than three months ago."
"Poor dear papa," murmured the girl in very bitterness of soul.
"She will come to it yet," thought Mrs. Arnold, "nothing succeeds like moderation," and with the most consummate adroitness commenced asking questions concerning her mother.