"Good-night, Billy," said this perfectly inconsistent young woman. "For a moment I thought Uncle Fred had altered his will in your favour. I almost wish he had." Billy smiled a little. "That would never have done," he said, gravely, as he shook hands; "you forget what a sordid, and heartless, and generally good-for-nothing chap I am, Peggy. It's much better as it is." Only the tiniest, the flimsiest fiction, her eyes craved of him. Even now, at the eleventh hour, lie to me, Billy Woods, and, oh, how gladly I will believe! But he merely said "Good-night, Peggy," and went out of the room. His broad shoulders had a pathetic droop, a listlessness. Margaret was glad. Of course, she was glad. At last, she had told him exactly what she thought of him. Why shouldn't she be glad? She was delighted. So, by way of expressing this delight, she sat down at the desk and began to cry very softly. XIII Having duly considered the emptiness of existence, the unworthiness of men, the dreary future that awaited her--though this did not trouble her greatly, as she confidently expected to die soon--and many other such dolorous topics, Miss Hugonin decided to retire for the night. She rose, filled with speculations as to the paltriness of life and the probability of her eyes being red in the morning. "It will be all his fault if they are," she consoled herself. "Doubtless he'll be very much pleased. After robbing me of all faith in humanity, I dare say the one thing needed to complete his happiness is to make me look like a fright. I hate him! After making me miserable, now, I suppose he'll go off and make some other woman miserable. Oh, of course, he'll make love to the first woman he meets who has any money. I'm sure she's welcome to him. I only pity any woman who has to put up with _him_. No, I don't," Margaret decided, after reflection; "I hate her, too!" Miss Hugonin went to the door leading to the hallway and paused. Then--I grieve to relate it--she shook a little pink-tipped fist in the air. "I detest you!" she commented, between her teeth; "oh, how _dare_ you make me feel so ashamed of the way I've treated you!" The query--as possibly you may have divined--was addressed to Mr. Woods. He was standing by the fireplace in the hallway, and his tall figure was outlined sharply against the flame of the gas-logs that burned there. His shoulders had a pathetic droop, a listlessness. Billy was reading a paper of some kind by the firelight, and the black outline of his face smiled grimly over it. Then he laughed and threw it into the fire. "Billy!" a voice observed--a voice that was honey and gold and velvet and all that is most sweet and rich and soft in the world.