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Updated: May 17, 2025
"Well, then," Louis Hamblin began, "I have known who you were ever since you came into Aunt Margie's house as a seamstress." Then he went on to explain how he learned it, and Mona, remembering the incident but too well, saw that it would be best to quietly accept the fact of his knowledge. "Does Mrs. Montague also know?" she asked, with breathless eagerness.
"Have you opened Aunt Margie's box yet?" was the question asked by Alsie as the work of filling the pie was drawing to a close. "I opened that some days ago," replied Alice, with a smile. "There were a good many things in that box for general distribution, and, by the way, Alsie, this goes into the pie, but I think it will interest you as much as father."
What if it were the hand of her betrothed husband's murderer? Alexandrine started forward at Margie's exclamation. Her cheek was white as marble, her breath came quick and struggling. "Margie! Margie Harrison!" she cried, "what do you mean?" "Nothing," answered Margie, recovering herself, and relapsing into her usual self-composure. They searched all that night, and found nothing.
"Then, if you were not sure of his presence, you loved some other; else why did you put your lips where those of a stranger had been? In that case, you were doubly false!" Margie's cheeks were crimson with shame. She covered her face with her hands, and was silent. "How many can you love at once, Margie Harrison?" "Alexandrine, you are cruel! cruel!
"But I I came with him," she faltered. "Then let him find you in other words, let him get you.... 'All's fair in love and war." Lane had his reward in the sweet amaze and confusion of her face, as she turned away. Holt rushed her off amid the straggling couples. "Dare, you're a wiz," declared Blair. "Margie's strong for Holt I'm glad. If we could only put Swann out of the running."
"You remained there some little time, and when you turned away, you stopped to look back, and in doing so you laid your hand this one, " she touched Margie's slender left hand, on which shone Archer Trevlyn's betrothal ring "on the gate post. Do you remember it?" "Yes, I remember it."
We will follow etiquette for this time, if you please, Miss Lee." "O well, just as you please, my dear." "And now, my friends, be kind enough to leave me alone," said Margie. "I want the last hours of my free life to myself. I will ring when I desire your attendance." Margie's manner forbade any objection on the part of the attendants, and they somewhat reluctantly withdrew.
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.
A waiter entered, and brought in a letter and a package. He snatched them both, and saw they were directed in Margie's handwriting. For a moment his heart stood still with a deadly fear. Great drops of perspiration covered his forehead, and he dropped letter and package to the floor. Why was she writing to him when she must expect to see him in a few hours? And that package! what did it contain?
Margie struck her forehead with her hand, as if she would wipe out the touch he had left there. Alexandrine came and put her arm around Margie's waist. "I almost envy you, Margie," she said, in that singularly purring voice of hers. "Ah, Linmere is magnificent! Such eyes, and hair, and such a voice! Well, Margie, you are a fortunate girl."
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