of the hotel.

"But do control yourself. I think that is Harriet--I beg pardon--Mrs.
Stacy, at the window, and your grief may remind her of her loss."

"Mrs. Stacy! Mrs. Stacy!" faltered Matthew. "Miss Maggie, would you have
any objection to stepping a little this way? It is so unpleasant for a
young lady of your refinement to stand directly in front of a hotel
filled with gentlemen. Beauty like yours is sure to bring them to the
windows in swarms, as one may observe, and I--I have enough of the old
feeling left to be jealous, miserably jealous when any man dares to look
upon you."

"But I come to call on your wife, Mr. Stacy."

"She is not at home, I do assure you. She has been shopping since--since
day before yesterday."

Margaret's eyes twinkled.

"Then, perhaps, I had better go up, and wait for her?"

Margaret was bright, but even here her old lover proved equal to the
occasion.

"My dear Maggie--excuse me, Miss Casey--I do assure you my lady has
taken the parlor-key with her. She will be so disappointed at not seeing
you!"

"It is unfortunate," said Maggie, playing with her parasol; "because I
was in hopes of having a few words with you, and that would be improper,
I fear, without her."

"My dear Miss Maggie, not at all--not at all. You have no idea of the
quantities of women that prefer to see me alone. Indeed, sometimes I
think Mrs. Stacy is a little in the way. Just walk quietly along,
miss--not before the windows. Excuse my infirmity, but there are some
feelings that one never can throw off. Hold that elegant parasol before
that lovely face, and I will be with you in a twinkling. The park is not
far off. One moment, while I run up for my cane."

Margaret allowed herself to be persuaded, for the last thing in her mind
had been to see Mrs. Stacy. Like those other ladies Matthew had boasted
of, she very much preferred to see him alone, and would have been
greatly annoyed had Harriet, in fact, appeared at the window.

So, making a merit of her own wishes, she slanted her parasol toward the
house and sauntered down the street, while Matthew ran up-stairs,
panting for breath, and, entering his parlor, looked anxiously toward
the window.

"Matthew, dear, is that you?"

Matthew's foreboding heart revived. That mumbling term of endearment,
coming, as it were, through a mouthful of cotton wool, reassured him. He
stepped to the sleeping-room door, and found Mrs. Stacy, with her head
buried in the pillo