Selina began to cry again, and then Margaret gave way to tears; and, presently, out came the dreadful story of the lover's fight and jailing; and Margaret, of course, promised to see that he was released at once. When she went to her own room, the maid following to help her efface the very disfiguring evidence of their humble, emotional drama, Margaret had recovered her self-esteem and had won a friend, who, if too stupid to be very useful, was also too stupid to be unfaithful. As it was on the same day, and scarcely one brief hour later, it must have been the very same Margaret who paced the alley of trimmed elms, her eyes so stern and somber, her mouth and chin so hard that her worshipful sister Lucia watched in silent, fascinated dread. At length Margaret noted Lucia, halted and: "Why don't you read your book?" she cried fiercely. "Why do you sit staring at me?" "What a temper you have got--what a NASTY temper!" Lucia was goaded into retorting. "Haven't I, though!" exclaimed Margaret, as if she gloried in it. "Stop that staring!" "I could see you were thinking something--something--TERRIBLE!" explained Lucia. Margaret's face cleared before a satirical smile. "What a romancer you are, Lucia." Then, with a laugh: "I'm taking myself ridiculously seriously to-day. Temper--giving way to temper--is a sure sign of defective intelligence or of defective digestion." "Is it about--about Mr. Craig?" Margaret reddened, dropped to the bench near her sister--evidence that she was willing to talk, to confide--so far as she ever confided her inmost self--to the one person she could trust. "Has he asked you to marry him?" "No; not yet." "But he's going to?" Margaret gave a queer smile. "He doesn't think so." "He wouldn't dare!" exclaimed Lucia. "Why, he's not in the same class with you." "So! The little romancer is not so romantic that she forgets her snobbishness." "I mean, he's so rude and noisy. I DETEST him!" "So do I--at times." Lucia looked greatly relieved. "I thought you were encouraging him. It seemed sort of--of--cheap, unworthy of you, to care to flirt with a man like that." Margaret's expression became strange indeed. "I am not flirting with him," she said gravely. "I'm going to marry him." Lucia was too amazed to speak, was so profoundly shocked that her usually rosy cheeks grew almost pale. "Yes, I shall marry him," repeated Margaret slowly. "But you don't love him!" cried Lucia. "I dislike him," replied Margaret. After a pause she added: "When a woman makes up her mind to marry a man, willy-nilly, she begins to hate him. It's a case of hunter and hunted. Perhaps, after she's got him, she may change. But not till the trap springs--not till the game's bagged." Lucia shuddered. "Oh, Rita!" she cried. And she turned away to bury her face in her arms.