was only this wild fear of betrayal that
at length betrayed.

Reaching the house, the street door was hardly shut behind them when
Marguerite would have darted up to her chamber; but her friend caught
her hands across the balustrade, and said, with roguery in her own
eyes:

"Marguerite, you sweet rowdy--"

"W'at?"

"Yes, _what_. There's something up; what is it?"

The girl tried to put on surprise; but her eyes failed her again. She
leaned on the rail and looked down, meanwhile trying softly to draw
away up-stairs; but her friend held on to one hand and murmured:

"Just one question, dearie, just one. I'll not ask another: I'll die
first. You'll probably find me _in articulo mortis_ when you come
down-stairs. Just one question, lovie."

"_W'at_ it is?"

"It's nothing but this; I ask for information." The voice dropped to
a whisper,--"Is he as handsome as his portrait?"

The victim rallied all her poor powers of face, and turned feebly upon
the questioner:

"Po'trait? Who?" Her voice was low, and she glanced furtively at the
nearest door. "I dawn't awnstan you." Her hand pulled softly for its
freedom, and she turned to go, repeating, with averted face, "I dawn't
awnstan you 't all."

"Well, never mind then, dear, if you don't understand," responded the
tease, with mock tenderness. "But, _ma belle Creole_--"

"_Je suis Acadienne._"

"You're an angel, faintly disguised. Only--look around here--only,
Angelica, don't try to practise woman's humbug on a woman. At least,
not on this old one. It doesn't work. I'll tell you whom I mean." She
pulled, but Marguerite held off. "I mean," she hoarsely whispered,--"I
mean the young inventor that engineer told us about. Remember?"

Marguerite, with her head bowed low, slowly dragged her hand free, and
moved with growing speed up the stairs, saying:

"I dawn't know what is dat. I dawn't awnstan you 't all." Her last
words trembled as if nigh to tears. At the top of the stairs the
searching murmur of her friend's voice came up, and she turned and
looked back.

"Forgive me!" said the figure below. The girl stood a moment, sending
down a re-assuring smile.

"You young rogue!" murmured the lady, looking up with ravished eyes.
Then she lifted herself on tiptoe, made a trumpet of both little
hands, and whispered:

"Don't--worry! We'll bring it out--all right!"

Whereat Marguerite blushed from temple to throat, and vanished.

The same day word came from her mother