eep Margaret from going to the dinner. She stopped a
moment in the middle of her chamber to think. She had almost forgotten
how he looked--his eyes, his smile. Dear me! how the birds were singing
outside, and how fresh the world was! And she would not hurry. He could
wait. No doubt he would wait now any length of time for her. He was in
the house, in the room below, perhaps looking out of the window, perhaps
reading, perhaps spying about at her knick-knacks--she would like to
look in at the door a moment to see what he was doing. Of course he was
here to see her, and all the business was a pretext. As she sat a moment
upon the edge of her bed reflecting what to put on, she had a little
pang that she had been doing him injustice in her thought. But it was
only for an instant. He was here. She was not in the least flurried.
Indeed, her mental processes were never clearer than when she settled
upon her simple toilet, made as it was in every detail with the sure
instinct of a woman who dresses for her lover. Heavens! what a miserable
day it had been, what a rebellious day! He ought to be punished for
it somehow. Perhaps the rose she put in her hair was part of the
punishment. But he should not see how happy she was; she would be civil,
and just a little reserved; it was so like a man to make a woman wait
all day and then think he could smooth it all over simply by appearing.

But somehow in Henderson's presence these little theories of conduct did
not apply. He was too natural, direct, unaffected, his pleasure in being
with her was so evident! He seemed to brush aside the little defenses
and subterfuges. There was this about him that appeared to her
admirable, and in contrast with her own hesitating indirection, that
whatever he wanted--money, or position, or the love of woman--he went
straight to his object with unconsciousness that failure was possible.
Even in walking across the grounds in the soft sunset light, and
chatting easily, their relations seemed established on a most natural
basis, and Margaret found herself giving way to the simple enjoyment of
the hour. She was not only happy, but her spirits rose to inexpressible
gayety, which ran into the humor of badinage and a sort of spiritual
elation, in which all things seemed possible. Perhaps she recognized in
herself, what Henderson saw in her. And with it all there was an access
of tenderness for her aunt, the dear thing whose gentle life appeared so
colorless.

I