"Has Phillip been here to-day, my dear?" asked Mr. Verne arousing
Marguerite from her reverie.
"Not to-day, papa."
"I would like to see him this evening."
"James can go for him if you wish, papa."
"Very well, dear, just say that I wish to see him, if at all possible."
Marguerite glanced at the tiny alarm clock that stood on the table. It was nearly eight o'clock, and in all probability Mr. Lawson might not be found at home, but she gave the message to the trusty errand boy, and once more was installed as watcher in the sick room, having an uncomfortable dread of meeting the expectant visitor.
"James has indeed been successful, papa," cried the girl as she heard the well-known footsteps in the corridor, then hastily added, "I shall be in the library, papa. You can ring when I am needed."
Marguerite had not gone many steps when she stood face to face with
Phillip Lawson.
Despite her efforts to appear calm the flushed cheeks were a sad tell tale.
She reached out her hand in a friendly way but seemed nervous and embarrassing, a circumstance which might easily be ascribed to the painful anxiety that at times possessed her.