"No, no, no! Do what you judge best, and leave me to myself and my God."

Alexandrine went out, and Margie, locking the door after her, flung
herself down on the carpet and buried her face in the pillows of the
sofa.

Miss Lee swept down the staircase, her dark, bright face resplendent, her
bearing haughty as that of an empress. Arch was in the parlor. He looked
up eagerly as the door opened, but his countenance fell when he saw that
it was only Miss Lee. She greeted him cordially.

"Good evening, Mr. Trevlyn. I am deputized to receive you, and my good
intentions must be accepted in place of more fervid demonstrations."

"I am happy to see you, Miss Lee. Where is Margie?"

"She is in her room, somewhat indisposed. She begged me to ask you to
excuse her, as she is unable to come down, and of course cannot have
pleasure of going with you to the opera."

"Sick? Margie sick!" he exclaimed, anxiously. "What can be the matter?
She was well enough three hours ago."

"O, do not be uneasy. It is nothing serious. A headache, I think. She
will be well after a night's rest. Cannot I prevail on you to sit down?"

"I think not, to-night, thank you. I will call to-morrow. Give Margie my
best love, and tell her how sorry I am that she is ill."

Alexandrine promised, and Mr. Trevlyn bowed himself out. She put her hand