“When we reached the house he went up to his room. The evening came. I got out our German books—Raby and I were studying together—and presently he joined me. In his absence of mind he had forgotten all about the ball, as I knew he would, and we were both absorbed in Schiller’s magnificent ‘Wallenstein’ when Margaret entered, looking what Hugh Redmond called his ‘Marguerite of Marguerites,’ his pearl among women.
“Raby started and looked perplexed.
“‘What, is it so late? You are dressed, Margaret, and this careless child has not commenced her toilet. Pray help her, Maggie, she will be dreadfully late.’
“Margaret gave me a wistful smile.
“‘The carriage is here already,’ she answered, quietly, ‘and Mrs. Montague is waiting. Crystal is not going to the ball, Raby.’
“‘Not going?’ He turned and looked at me, our eyes met, and then he understood.
“‘Does not Margaret look lovely,’ I asked in assumed carelessness, when the hall door had closed, and he came back to the room.
“For answer he took me in his arms.
“‘Not half so fair as my Esther,’ he said, tenderly, ‘though she is not wearing her regal dress. I thank God,’ and here his voice grew low and solemn. ‘I thank God, Crystal, that my darling has chosen the better part that shall not be taken away from her.’”