the situation
became strangely tense. Men and women turned eager faces; they could
not have told why eager, but they were all conscious of something
unusual in the atmosphere and every expression upon those expectant
faces suddenly changed into one which made them as a listening unit.
Then Margaret began.

Chapter VII

Wilbur Edes thought he had never seen his wife look as beautiful as
she did standing there before them all with those fluttering leaves
of paper in her hand. A breeze came in at an opposite window and
Margaret's blue feather tossed in it; her yellow hair crisped and
fluffed and the paper fluttered. Margaret stood for an appreciable
second surveying them all with a most singular expression. It was
compounded of honeyed sweetness, of triumph, and something else more
subtle, the expression of a warrior entering battle and ready for
death, yet terrible with defiance and the purpose of victory, and
death for his foe.

Then Margaret spoke and her thin silvery voice penetrated to every
ear in the room.

"Members of the Zenith Club and friends," said Margaret, "I take the
opportunity offered me to-night to disclose a secret which is a
source of much joy to myself, and which I am sure will be a source of
joy to you also. I trust that since you are my friends and neighbours
and associates in club work, you will acquit me of the charge of
egotism and credit me with my whole motive, which is, I think, not an
unworthy one coming to you in joy, as I would come in sorrow for your
sympathy and understanding. I am about to read an extract from a book
whose success has given me the most unqualified surprise and delight,
knowing as I do that a reading by an author from her own work always
increases the interest even though she may not be an able expositor
by word of mouth of what she has written."

Then Margaret read. She had chosen a short chapter which was in
itself almost a complete little story. She read exceedingly well and
without faltering. People listened with ever-growing amazement. Then
Mrs. Jack Evarts whispered so audibly to a man at her side that she
broke in upon Margaret's clear recitative. "Goodness, she's reading
from that book that is selling so,--_The Poor Lady_--I remember every
word of that chapter."

Then while Margaret continued her reading imperturbably, the chorus
of whispers increased. "That is from _The Poor Lady_, yes, it is. Did
she write it? Why, of course, she did. She just sa