"I never looked better in my life--never
so well. I'm glad I kept back this particular dress. He's sure to
like it, and it certainly is becoming to me--the best-fitting
skirt I ever had--what good lines it has about the hips." She
startled at a knock upon the door. She rushed away from the
mirror. He had small physical vanity himself--she had never known
any one with so little. He had shown that he thought she had no
vanity of that kind, either, and he would doubtless misunderstand
her solicitude about her personal appearance. Anyhow, of all
mornings this would be the worst for him to catch her at the
glass.
"Yes?" she called.
"Margaret," came in his voice. And, oh, the difference in it!--the
note of tenderness--no, it was not imagination, it was really
there! Her eyes filled and her bosom heaved.
"Are you joining me at breakfast?"
"Come in," cried she.
When the door did not open she went and opened it. There stood HE!
If he had greeted her with a triumphant, proprietorial expression
she would have been--well, it would have given her a lowered
opinion of his sensibility. But his look was just right--dazzled,
shy, happy. Nor did he make one of his impetuous rushes.
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