"
"I am very sorry you took so much trouble, William, for I cannot
come this evening."
"But why not, Margaret? You have no other promise to go elsewhere
have you?"
"None," was the indifferent reply.
"Then--but, perhaps, you are not well, Margaret?"
"I am quite well, I thank you, William Hinkley, but I don't feel
like going out this evening. I am not in the humor."
Already, in the little village of Charlemont, Margaret Cooper
was one of the few who were permitted to indulge in humors, and
William Hinkley learned the reason assigned for her refusal, with
an expression of regret and disappointment, if not of reproach.
An estoppel, which would have been so conclusive in the case of
a city courtier, was not sufficient, however, to satisfy the more
frank and direct rustic, and he proceeded with some new suggestions,
in the hope to change her determination.
"But you'll be so lonesome at home, Margaret, when your mother's
with us. She'll be gone before you can get back, and--"
"I'm never lonesome, William, at least I'm never so well content
or so happy as when I'm alone," was the self-satisfactory reply.
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