delightful the little fire is, even if we are
in the middle of June. Let me help you, Peggy!"

Peggy was fumbling at her veil, which was tied in a hard knot; but in a
few minutes everything was off, and the three Margaret Montforts stood
silent, gazing at each other.

Nearest the fire stood the girl who was called Peggy. She was apparently
about sixteen, plump and fair, with a profusion of blonde hair which
looked as if it were trying to fly away. Her round, rosy cheeks, blue
eyes, and pouting lips gave her a cherubic contour which was comically
at variance with her little tilted nose; but she was pretty, in spite of
her singularly ill-devised and ill-fitting costume of green flannel.

Reclining in the armchair next her, the Margaret who was called Rita
was a startling contrast to the rosy Peggy. She was a year older, slight
and graceful, her simple black gown fitting like a glove and saying
"Paris" in every seam. Her hair was absolutely black, her eyes large and
dark, her delicate features regular and finely cut; but the beautiful
face wore an expression of discontent, and there were two fine vertical
lines between the eyebrows. Her complexion had the clear pallor of a
Cape Jessamine.

Facing these two, and looking with thoughtful eyes from one to the
other, stood the girl whom we have spoken of as the first Margaret. She
was seventeen, within two months of the age of her dark-eyed cousin.
Lacking the brilliant colouring of the other two, her face had its own
charm. Her eyes were dark gray, with violet shades in them, deepened by
the long and heavy black lashes. The faint tinge of colour in her smooth
cheeks was that of the wild rose; her wavy chestnut hair had glints of
gold here and there in it, and though her nose was nothing in
particular, she had the prettiest mouth in the world, and a dimple
beside it. In conclusion, she was dressed in dark blue, simply, yet
tastefully too.

"Well," said Peggy, breaking the silence with an embarrassed giggle, "I
hope we shall know each other the next time we meet."

Margaret blushed. "I fear I have been staring rudely!" she said. "But I
have never had any cousins before,--never seen any, that is, and I am
really so glad to know you both! Let us shake hands, girls, and try to
be friends!"

She spoke so pleasantly that Peggy's plump hand and Rita's delicate
white fingers were at once extended. Holding them in her own, Margaret
hesitated a moment, and then, bending forward,