"I shall go," exclaimed the barrister to himself, as he had turned down Paddock street on his way homewards. "Her papa will receive me; why did she not say Evelyn?"
Marguerite was sensitive on the subject of Mr. Lawson's reception, and she had a modest intuition of her friend's feelings, and, as is too often the case in trying to smooth matters, only made a greater blunder.
"Why did I not let well alone," exclaimed the girl, as she stood on the broad stone steps leading to the elegant home. It was six o'clock and the first bell gave the warning that there was barely time to dress for dinner.
"He will be here without fail, for I know his word is inviolable," cried the girl, as she hastily re-arranged some lace on the sleeves of her pretty dinner dress—a combination of silk and velvet in shade of ash of roses.
"Dear me, there is the bell, and my hair not presentable."
But Marguerite was mistaken.
"Why, Madge, where have you been?"
"I have been out making calls," said she, with an air of surprise.
"Well, my dear, I advise you to go every day if you can bring back such roses."
Marguerite blushed as deeply as if the compliment came from an admirer—aye, more so; for the girl well knew that those from her fond parent were from the heart.