divined--was addressed to Mr.
Woods. He was standing by the fireplace in the hallway, and his tall
figure was outlined sharply against the flame of the gas-logs that
burned there. His shoulders had a pathetic droop, a listlessness.

Billy was reading a paper of some kind by the firelight, and the black
outline of his face smiled grimly over it. Then he laughed and threw
it into the fire.

"Billy!" a voice observed--a voice that was honey and gold and velvet
and all that is most sweet and rich and soft in the world.

Mr. Woods was aware of a light step, a swishing, sibilant, delightful
rustling--the caress of sound is the rustling of a well-groomed
woman's skirts--and of an afterthought of violets, of a mere
reminiscence of orris, all of which came toward him through the
dimness of the hall. He started, noticeably.

"Billy," Miss Hugonin stated, "I'm sorry for what I said to you. I'm
not sure it isn't true, you know, but I'm sorry I said it."

"Bless your heart!" said Billy; "don't you worry over that, Peggy.
That's all right. Incidentally, the things you've said to me and about
me aren't true, of course, but we won't discuss that just now. I--I
fancy we're both feeling a bit fagged. Go to bed, Peggy! We'll both
go to bed, and the night will bring counsel, and we'll sleep off all
unkindliness. Go to bed, little sister!--get all the beauty-sleep you
aren't in the least in need of, and dream of how happy you're going to
be with the man you love. And--and in the morning I may have something
to say to you. Good-night, dear."

And this time he really went. And when he had come to the bend in the
stairs his eyes turned back to hers, slowly and irresistibly, drawn
toward them, as it seemed, just as the sunflower is drawn toward the
sun, or the needle toward the pole, or, in fine, as the eyes of young
gentlemen ordinarily are drawn toward the eyes of the one woman in the
world. Then he disappeared.

The mummery of it vexed Margaret. There was no excuse for his looking
at her in that way. It irritated her. She was almost as angry with him
for doing it as she would have been for not doing it.

Therefore, she bent an angry face toward the fire, her mouth pouting
in a rather inviting fashion. Then it rounded slowly into a sanguine
O, which of itself suggested osculation, but in reality stood for
"observe!" For the paper Billy had thrown into the fire had fallen
under the gas-logs, and she remembered his guilty start.

"A