e, and turned to him for help, for some explanation, but in an
instant she knew that something was wrong. A cloud had come between
them; he was hurt; he was antagonized.

He paused for an appreciable instant, and then said, kindly enough, but
in a voice that cut her deeply:

"I am glad this ridiculous thing is ended; don't let us speak of it
again."

"Ended!" said she. "How ended?" And somehow her voice sounded to her as
her mother's voice had when she stood there and questioned her sisters
about the little room. She seemed to have to drag her words out. She
spoke slowly: "It seems to me to have only just begun in my case. It was
just so with mother when she--"

"I really wish, Margaret, you would let it drop. I don't like to hear
you speak of your mother in connection with it. It--" He hesitated, for
was not this their wedding-day? "It doesn't seem quite the thing, quite
delicate, you know, to use her name in the matter."

She saw it all now: _he didn't believe her_. She felt a chill sense of
withering under his glance.

"Come," he added, "let us go out, or into the dining-room, somewhere,
anywhere, only drop this nonsense."

He went out; he did not take her hand now--he was vexed, baffled, hurt.
Had he not given her his sympathy, his attention, his belief--and his
hand?--and she was fooling him. What did it mean?--she so truthful, so
free from morbidness--a thing he hated. He walked up and down under the
poplars, trying to get into the mood to go and join her in the house.

Margaret heard him go out; then she turned and shook the shelves; she
reached her hand behind them and tried to push the boards away; she ran
out of the house on to the north side and tried to find in the darkness,
with her hands, a door, or some steps leading to one. She tore her dress
on the old rose-tree, she fell and rose and stumbled, then she sat down
on the ground and tried to think. What could she think--was she
dreaming?

She went into the house and out into the kitchen, and begged Aunt Maria
to tell her about the little room--what had become of it, when had they
built the closet, when had they bought the gilt-edged china?

They went on washing dishes and drying them on the spotless towels with
methodical exactness; and as they worked they said that there had never
been any little room, so far as they knew; the china-closet had always
been there, and the gilt-edged china had belonged to their mother, it
had always been in the h