wouldn't,
either--if he was as hateful and fickle as that--what was Aunt
Beatrice saying?

"Well, I'm--I'm not used to going to parties now, my dear. And the
truth is I have no dress fit to wear. At least Bella said so, because
the party was to be a very fashionable affair. She said my old grey
silk wouldn't do at all. Of course she knows. She had to have a new
dress for it, and, we couldn't both have that. George couldn't afford
it these hard times. And, as Bella said, it would be very foolish of
me to get an expensive dress that would be no use to me afterward. But
it doesn't matter. And, of course, somebody had to stay with the
children."

"Of course," assented Margaret dreamily. Mrs. Cunningham's "at home"
was of no particular interest. The guests were all middle-aged people
whom the M.P. had known in his boyhood and Margaret, in her
presumptuous youth, thought it would be a very prosy affair, although
it had made quite a sensation in quiet little Murraybridge, where
people still called an "at home" a party plain and simple.

"I saw Mr. Reynolds in church Sunday afternoon," she went on. "He is
very fine-looking, I think. Did you ever meet him?"

"I used to know him very well long ago," answered Aunt Beatrice,
bowing still lower over her work. "He used to live down in Wentworth,
you know, and he visited his married sister here very often. He was
only a boy at that time. Then--he went out to British Columbia
and--and--we never heard much more about him."

"He's very rich and owns dozens of mines and railroads and things like
that," said Margaret, "and he's a member of the Dominion Parliament,
too. They say he's one of the foremost men in the House and came very
near getting a portfolio in the new cabinet. I like men like that.
They are so interesting. Wouldn't it be awfully nice and complimentary
to have one of them in love with you? Is he married?"

"I--I don't know," said Aunt Beatrice faintly. "I have never heard
that he was."

"There, you've run the needle into your finger," said Margaret
sympathetically.

"It's of no consequence," said Aunt Beatrice hastily.

She wiped away the drop of blood and went on with her work. Margaret
watched her dreamily. What lovely hair Aunt Beatrice had! It was so
thick and glossy, with warm bronze tones where the lamp-light fell on
it under that hideous weird old shade. But Aunt Beatrice wore it in
such an unbecoming way. Margaret idly wondered if she would comb her
ha