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Page 26
"I could not do differently. You were as far above me as the evening star
is above the earth it shines upon! It would have been base presumption in
the poor saloon-waiter, or the dry-goods clerk, to have aspired to the
hand of one like you. And although I loved you so, I should never have
spoken, had not fate raised me to the position of a fortune equal to your
own, and given me the means of offering you a home worthy of you. But I
am waiting for my answer. Give it to me, Margie."
Her shy eyes met his, and he read his answer in their clear depths. But
he was too exacting to be satisfied thus.
"Do you love me, Margie? I want to hear the words from your lips. Speak,
darling. They are for my ear alone, and you need not blush to utter
them."
"I do love you, Archer. I believe I have loved you ever since the first."
"And you will be mine? All my own!"
She gave him her hands. He drew the head, with its soft, bright hair, to
his breast, and kissed the sweet lips again and again, almost failing to
realize the blessed reality of his happiness.
It was late that night before Archer Trevlyn left his betrothed bride,
and took his way to the village hotel. But he was too happy, too full of
sweet content, to heed the lapse of time. At last the longing of his life
was satisfied. He had heard her say that she loved him.
And Margie sat and listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps, and
then went up to her chamber to pass the night, wakeful, too content to be
willing to lose the time in sleep, and so the dawn of morning found her
with open eyes.
* * * * *
The ensuing winter was a very gay one. Margaret Harrison returned to New
York under the chaperonage of her friend, Mrs. Weldon, and mingled more
freely in society than she had done since the season she "came out." She
took pleasure in it now, for Archer Trevlyn was welcomed everywhere. He
was a favored guest in the most aristocratic homes, and people peculiarly
exclusive were happy to receive him into their most select gatherings.
His engagement with Margie was made public, and the young people were
overwhelmed with the usual compliments of politely expressed hopes and
fashionable congratulations.
The gentleman said Miss Harrison had always been beautiful, but this
season she was more than that. Happiness is a rare beautifier. It painted
Margie's cheeks and lips with purest rose color, and gave a light to her
eyes and a softness to her sweet voice.
Of course she did not mingle in society, even though her engagement
was well known, without being surrounded by admirers. They fairly took
her away from Arch, sometimes; but he tried to be patient. Before the
apple-trees in the green country valleys were rosy with blossoms, she
was to be all his own. He could afford to be generous.
Among the train of her admirers was a young Cuban gentleman, Louis
Castrani, a man of fascinating presence and great personal beauty. He had
been unfortunate in his first love. She had died a few days before they
were to have been married--died by the hand of violence, and Castrani had
shot the rival who murdered her. Public opinion had favored the avenger,
and he had not suffered for the act, but ever since he had been a prey to
melancholy. He told Margie his history, and it aroused her pity; but when
he asked her love, she refused him gently, telling him that her heart was
another's. He had suffered deeply from the disappointment, but he did not
give up her society, as most men would have done. He still hovered around
her, content if she gave him a smile or a kind word, seeming to find his
best happiness in anticipating her every wish before it was uttered.
Toward the end of March Alexandrine Lee came to pass a few days with
Margie. Some singular change had been at work on the girl. She had lost
her wonted gayety of spirits, and was for the most part subdued, almost
sad. Her beautiful eyes seldom lighted with a smile, and her sweet voice
was rarely heard.
She came, from a day spent out, one evening, into Margie's dressing-room.
Miss Harrison was preparing for the opera. There was a new prima donna,
and Archer was anxious for her to hear the wonder. Margie had never
looked lovelier. Her pink silk dress, with the corsage falling away
from the shoulders, and the sleeves leaving the round arms bare, was
peculiarly becoming, and the pearl necklace and bracelets--Archer's
gift--were no whiter or purer than the throat and wrists they encircled.
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