hat she could defray her own expenses
from the revenue of her book. He would never call her to account as
to what she had done with the wealth which he supposed her to be
reaping. She was well aware of that, but he would naturally wonder
within himself. Any man would. She said that she was quite well, that
she hated a big hotel, and much preferred home during the hot season,
but she heard the roar of these new breakers. How could she have
dreamed of the lifelong disturbance which a lie could cause?

Night after night she saw the light in Annie's windows and she knew
what she was doing. She knew why she was not to be married until next
winter. That book had to be written first. Poor Annie could not enjoy
her romance to the full because of over-work. The girl lost flesh and
Margaret knew why. Preparing one's trousseau, living in a love
affair, and writing a book, are rather strenuous, when undertaken at
the same time.

It was February when Annie and Von Rosen were married and the wedding
was very quiet. Annie had over-worked, but her book was published,
and was out-selling _The Poor Lady_. It also was published
anonymously, but Margaret knew, she knew even from the reviews. Then
she bought the book and read it and was convinced. The book was
really an important work. The writer had gone far beyond her first
flight, but there was something unmistakable about the style to such
a jealous reader as Margaret. Annie had her success after all. She
wore her laurels, although unseen of men, with her orange blossoms.
Margaret saw in every paper, in great headlines, the notice of the
great seller. The best novel for a twelve-month--_The Firm Hand_.
Wilbur talked much about it. He had his election. He was a Senator,
and was quietly proud of it, but nothing mattered to him as much as
Margaret's book. That meant more than his own success.

"I have read that novel they are talking so much about and it cannot
compare with yours," he told her. "The publishers ought to push yours
a little more. Do you think I ought to look in on them and have a
little heart-to-heart talk?"

Margaret's face was ghastly. "Don't do anything of the sort," she
said.

"Well, I won't if you don't want me to, but--"

"I most certainly don't want you to." Then Margaret never had a day
of peace. She feared lest Wilbur, who seemed nightly more incensed at
the flaming notices of _The Firm Hand_ might, in spite of her
remonstrances, go to see the publishers, a