Whereupon she and Mrs.
Kingsley, with gracious words of invitation and farewell, took themselves off leaving Mrs.Maynard contending with an outraged spirit.

Certain terse remarks of the crude and practical Mrs.Wrapp had forced to her mind a question that of late had assumed cardinal importance, and now had been brought to an issue by a proposal for Margaret's hand.

Her daughter was a great expense, really more than could longer be borne in these times of enormous prices and shrunken income.

A husband had been found for Margaret, and the matter could be adjusted easily enough, if the girl did not meet it with the incomprehensible obstinacy peculiar to her of late.
Mrs.Maynard found the fair object of her hopes seated in the middle of her room with the bright contents of numerous boxes and drawers strewn in glittering heaps around her.
"Margaret, what on earth are you doing there ?" she demanded.
"I'm looking for a little picture Holt Dalrymple gave me when we went to school together," responded Margaret.
"Aren't you ever going to grow up?
You'll be hunting for your dolls next." "I will if I like," said the daughter, in a tone that did not manifest a seraphic mood.
"Don't you feel well ?" inquired the mother, solicitously.

Margaret was frail and subject to headaches that made her violent.
"Oh, I'm well enough." "My dear," rejoined Mrs.Maynard, changing the topic.