irl. A veil gathered over the glowing eyes; her hands unclenched
themselves, opened softly; her whole frame seemed to relax its tension,
and in another moment she dropped on her couch with a low laugh.

"_Chere Marguerite_," she said, "you, too, were born for the stage. Your
climax, it was magnificent, _tres chere_; pity that you spoiled it with
an anti-climax." And she shrugged her shoulders. "My poor little story!
You would not even let me finish it. No matter; perhaps it has no end;
perhaps I was but trying to see if I could put life into you, statues
that you are. Ah, it was a pretty story, if I could have been permitted
to finish it!"

Margaret turned scarlet. "My dear, if I have been rude," she said, "I am
very sorry, Rita; I thought--"

"You thought!" said Rita, her full voice dropping the words scornfully,
in a way that was hard to bear. "Your thoughts are very valuable, _tres
chere_; I must not claim too many of them; they would be wasted on a
poor patriot like me. And thou, Peggy, how didst thou like my story,
eh?"

Rita turned so suddenly on Peggy that the poor child had not time to
shut her mouth, which had been open in sheer amazement.

"Shut it!" said Rita sharply. "Is it a whale, or the Gulf of Mexico? I
asked how you like my story, little stupid. Have you had sense to attend
to it?"

Peggy's eyes filled with tears. A month ago she would have answered
angrily, but now Rita was her goddess, and she could only weep at a
harsh word from her.

"I--I think it is fine for a story, Rita," she answered slowly. "I loved
to hear it. But--" Her blue eyes wandered helplessly for a moment, then
met Margaret's steady gaze, and settled. "But if such a thing were true,
Margaret would be right, wouldn't she?"

"And if you removed yourselves now?" queried Rita, turning her back to
them with a sudden fling of the fur robe over her shoulder. "One must
sleep in this place, or be talked to death, it appears. I choose sleep.
My ears ring at present as with the sound of the sea,--a sea of cold
babble! _Adios_, Senorita Calibana, Dona Fish-blood! I pray for relief!"

Margaret took Peggy's hand without a word, and they went out; but Peggy
cried till dinner-time, and would not be comforted.

CHAPTER XII.

IN THE SADDLE.

"To witch the world with noble horsemanship."

Rita's "story" was not the first thing to rouse suspicion in Margaret's
mind. It was rather the concluding word of a sentence that had bee