rl, who is frightened at her wild talk.
I might try the poison on myself first, Margaret; what do you think of
that?" Then, seeing Margaret's white, shocked face, she laughed again,
and fell to tossing the gems into the air, and catching them as they
fell. "It would be a pity, though, just when I have got all these new
playthings. Did you bring a book to read to me, little girl? I can't
abide reading, but I like to hear your voice. You have something, I see
it in your guilty face. Poetry, I'll be bound. Out with it, witch! You
hope to bring me to a sense of the error of my ways. Why, I used to read
poetry, Margaret, by the dozen yards. Byron,--does any one read Byron
nowadays?"

"My father was fond of Byron," said Margaret. "He used to read me bits
of 'Childe Harold' and the 'Corsair;' I liked them, and I always loved
the 'Assyrian.' But--I thought you might like something bright and
cheerful to-day, Mrs. Peyton, so I brought Austin Dobson. Are you fond
of Dobson?"

"Never heard of him!" said the lady, carelessly. "Read whatever you
like, child; your voice always soothes me. Will you come and be my
companion, Margaret? Your uncle has Sophronia now; he cannot need you.
Come to me! You shall have a thousand, two thousand dollars a year, and
all the jewels you want. I'll have these set for you, if you like."

[Illustration: "'DID YOU BRING A BOOK TO READ TO ME, LITTLE GIRL?'"]

She seemed only half in earnest, and Margaret laughed. "You sent your
last companion away, you know, Mrs. Peyton," she said. "I'm afraid I
should not suit you, either."

"My dear, that woman ate apples! No one could endure that, you know.
Ate--champed apples in my ears, and threw the cores into my grate.
Positively, she smelt of apples all day long. I had to have the room
fumigated when she left. A dreadful person! One of her front teeth was
movable, too, and set me distracted every time she opened her mouth. Are
you ever going to begin?"

Margaret read two or three of her favourite poems, but with little heart
in her reading, for she felt that her listener was not listening. Now
and then would come an impatient sigh, or a fretful movement of the
jewelled hands; once a sapphire was tossed up in the air, and fell on
the floor by Margaret's feet. Only when she began the lovely "Good
Night, Babette!" did Mrs. Peyton's attention seem to fix. She listened
quietly, and, at the end, drew a deep breath.

"You call that bright and cheerful, do you?"