"I don't think I can tell you, Nan; you would consider me a fool, and I want to keep your good opinion. But I can tell you a part of my troubles. He wants me to marry Francis Bethune! Think of that!" She paused and looked at Nan. "Well, why don't you congratulate me?"

"I'll never believe that," said Nan, decisively. "Did he say that he wanted you to marry Frank Bethune?" The "he" in this case was Pulaski Tomlin.

"Well, he didn't insist on it; he's too kind for that. But Francis has been coming here very often, until our friends in blue gave him a much-needed rest, and I suppose I must have been going around looking somewhat gloomy; you know how I am--I can't be gay; and then he asked me what the trouble was, and finally said that Francis would make me a good husband. Why, I could have killed myself! Think of me, in this house, and occupying the position I do!"

Such heat and fury Nan had never seen her friend display before. "Why, Margaret!" she cried, "you don't know what you are saying. Why, if he or Aunt f.a.n.n.y could hear you, they would be perfectly miserable. I don't see how you can feel that way."

"No, you don't, and I hope you never will!" exclaimed Margaret. "n.o.body knows how I feel. If I could, I would tell you--but I can't, I can't!"

"Margaret," said Nan, in a most serious tone, "has he or Aunt f.a.n.n.y ever treated you unkindly?" Nan was prepared to hear the worst.

"Unkindly!" cried Margaret, bursting into tears; "oh, I wish they would!

I wish they would treat me as I deserve to be treated. Oh, if he would treat me cruelly, or do something to wound my feelings, I would bless him."

Margaret had led Nan into a strange country, so to speak, and she knew not which way to turn or what to say. Something was wrong, but what? Of all Nan's acquaintances, Margaret was the most self-contained, the most evenly balanced. Many and many a time Nan had envied Margaret's serenity, and now here she was in tears, after talking as wildly as some hysterical person.

"Come home with me, Margaret," cried Nan. "Maybe the change would do you good."

"I thank you, Nan. You are as good as you can be; you are almost as good as the people here; but I can't go. I can't leave this house for any length of time until I leave it for good. I'd be wild to get back; my misery fascinates me; I hate it and hug it."

"I am sure that I don't understand you at all," said Nan, in a tone of despair.

"No, and you never will," Margaret affirmed. "To understand you would have to feel as I do, and I hope you may be spared that experience all the days of your life."

After awhile Nan decided that Margaret would be more comfortable if she were alone, and so she bade her friend good-bye, and went downstairs, where she found Miss f.a.n.n.y awaiting her somewhat impatiently.

"Well, what is the trouble, child?" she asked.

Nan shook her head. "I don't know, Aunt f.a.n.n.y, and I don't believe she knows herself."

"But didn't she give you some hint--some intimation? I don't want to be inquisitive, child; but if she's in trouble, I want to find some remedy for it. Pulaski is in a terrible state of mind about her, and I am considerably worried myself. We love her just as much as if she were our own, and yet we can't go to her and make a serious effort to discover what is worrying her. She is proud and sensitive, and we have to be very careful. Oh, I hope we have done nothing to wound that child's feelings."

"It isn't that," replied Nan. "I asked her, and she said that you treated her too kindly."

"Well," sighed Miss f.a.n.n.y, "if she won't confide in us, she'll have to bear her troubles alone. It is a pity, but sometimes it is best."

And then there came a knock on the door, and it was so sudden and unexpected that Nan gave a jump.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

_Bridalbin Finds His Daughter_

"They's a gentleman out there what says he wanter see Miss Bridalbin,"

said the house-girl who had gone to the door. "I tol' him they wan't no sech lady here, but he say they is. It's that there Mr. Borin'," the girl went on, "an' I didn't know if you'd let him go in the parlour."

"Yes, ask him in the parlour," said Miss f.a.n.n.y, "and then go upstairs and tell Miss Margaret that some one wants to see her."

"Oh, yessum!" said the house-girl with a laugh; "it's Miss Marg'ret; I clean forgot her yuther name."

"The rascal certainly has impudence," remarked Miss f.a.n.n.y. "Pulaski should know about this." Whereupon, she promptly called Neighbour Tomlin out of the library, and he came into the room just as Margaret came downstairs.

"Wait one moment, Margaret," he said. "It may be well for me to see what this man wants--unless----" He paused. "Do you know this Boring?"

"No; I have heard of him. I have never even seen him that I know of."

"Then I'll see him first," said Neighbour Tomlin. He went into the parlour, and those who were listening heard a subdued murmur of voices.

"What is your business with Miss Bridalbin?" Neighbour Tomlin asked, ignoring the proffered hand of the visitor.

"I am her father."

Neighbour Tomlin stood staring at the man as if he were dazed.

Bridalbin's face bore the unmistakable marks of alcoholism, and he had evidently prepared himself for this interview by touching the bottle, for he held himself with a swagger.

Neighbour Tomlin said not a word in reply to the man's declaration. He stared at him, and turned and went back into the sitting-room where he had left the others.

"Why, Pulaski, what on earth is the matter?" cried Miss f.a.n.n.y, as he entered the room. "You look as if you had seen a ghost." And indeed his face was white, and there was an expression in his eyes that Nan thought was most piteous.

"Go in, my dear," he said to Margaret. "The man has business with you."

And then, when Margaret had gone out, he turned to Miss f.a.n.n.y. "It is her father," he said.

"Well, I wonder what's he up to?" remarked Miss f.a.n.n.y. There was a touch of anger in her voice. "She shan't go a step away from here with such a creature as that."

"She is her own mistress, sister. She is twenty years old," replied Neighbour Tomlin.

"Well, she'll be very ungrateful if she leaves us," said Miss f.a.n.n.y, with some emphasis.

"Don't, sister; never use that word again; to me it has an ugly sound.

We have had no thought of grat.i.tude in the matter. If there is any debt in the matter, we are the debtors. We have not been at all happy in the way we have managed things. I have seen for some time that Margaret is unhappy; and we have no business to permit unhappiness to creep into this house." So said Neighbour Tomlin, and the tones of his voice seemed to issue from the fountains of grief.

"Well, I am sure I have done all I could to make the poor child happy,"

Miss f.a.n.n.y declared.

"I am sure of that," said Neighbour Tomlin. "If any mistake has been made it is mine. And yet I have never had any other thought than to make Margaret happy."

"I know that well enough, Pulaski," Miss f.a.n.n.y a.s.sented, "and I have sometimes had an idea that you thought too much about her for your own good."

"That is true," he replied. He was a merciless critic of himself in matters both great and small, and he had no concealments to make. He was open as the day, except where openness might render others unhappy or uncomfortable. "Yes, you are right," he insisted; "I have thought too much about her happiness for my own good, and now I see myself on the verge of great trouble."

"If Margaret understood the situation," said Miss f.a.n.n.y, "I think she would feel differently."

"On the contrary, I think she understands the situation perfectly well; that is the only explanation of her troubles which she has not sought to conceal."

At that moment Margaret came to the door. Her face was very pale, almost ghastly, indeed, but whatever trouble may have looked from her eyes before, they were clear now. She came into the room with a little smile hovering around her mouth. She had no eyes for any one but Pulaski Tomlin, and to him she spoke.