“You shall!” she answered, excitedly, unable to bear his tone of injured superiority any longer. “I witnessed a scene between you and Mrs. Vere in the conservatory at the ball that night, that made me despise you. It revealed your true nature to me, at a glance, and I am glad of it. I should not have spoken of it. I could have managed to hold my peace and meet you calmly as a casual acquaintance; but that you would not have. But when you presume to offer me what you are pleased to call your devotion, with the memory of that scene in my mind, I can be silent no longer. And now,” she went on, after an instant’s pause, “I have spoken, and we understand each other. Let the whole subject be dropped just here, forever.” She had avoided looking at him, as she spoke, and even now she hesitated to meet his eyes. There was a moment’s deep stillness, and then, to the relief of both, Cousin Eugenia’s silken robes were heard sweeping down the staircase. She entered, and the room’s whole atmosphere changed. Her graceful toilet, well-turned phrases and studious correctness of demeanor, recalled the usages of the world in which they lived, and Margaret and Decourcy resumed their seats and began to talk of snow-storms and sleigh-rides, following Cousin Eugenia’s lead. When Margaret presently glanced at Mr. Decourcy, she saw that he was very pale, but that was all. He had never been more self-possessed. When he rose to go, Mrs. Gaston, seeing that something was amiss, discreetly walked over to the window for a moment, and Decourcy, taking a step toward Margaret, said in a low tone: “You have been very hard to me, Margaret, and have judged me hastily. The time may come when you will see that it is so, and for that time I shall wait.” He said good-bye then, without offering his hand, and Margaret, to her amazement, found herself feeling like a culprit. There was such an air of gentle magnanimousness about Mr. Decourcy, that it made her feel quite contrite. In exciting which sensation Mr. Decourcy had obtained exactly the result he had aimed at. CHAPTER XIX. It was two evenings prior to the day fixed for Miss Trevennon’s return to her home. January, with its multifarious engagements, had passed, and February was well advanced. It had been a very happy time to Margaret, and, now that her visit was almost at an end, she found herself much prone to reverie, and constantly falling into quiet fits of musing. There was much pleasant food for thought in looking back, but an instinct constantly warned her against looking forward.