"
"Did you propose to him this afternoon?" demanded Grant.
Margaret grew cold from head to foot. "Does he say I did?" she
succeeded in articulating.
"He does. He was so excited that he jumped off a car and held me
an hour telling me, though he was late for one of those important
conferences he's always talking about."
Margaret had chosen her course. "Did he ask you to run and tell me
he had told you?" inquired she, with the vicious gleam of a
vicious temper in her fine hazel eyes.
"No," admitted Grant. "I suppose I've no right to tell you. But it
was such an INFERNAL lie."
"Did you tell him so?"
Arkwright grew red.
"I see you did not," said Margaret. "I knew you did not. Now, let
me tell you, I don't believe Craig said anything of the kind. A
man who'd betray a friend is quite capable of lying about him."
"Margaret! Rita Severence!" Grant started up, set down his teacup,
stood looking down at her, his face white to the lips. "Your tone
is not jest; it is insult."
"It was so intended." Margaret's eyes were upon him, her
grandmother's own favorite expression in them. Now that she was no
longer a matrimonial offering she felt profoundly indifferent to
eligible men, rejoiced in her freedom to act toward them as she
wished.
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