"I am not accustomed to address gentlemen--mere acquaintances--by
their Christian names, sir."

"But in this case, Margie? Surely the relations existing between us
will admit of such a familiarity," he said, seating himself, while she
remained standing coldly near.

"There are no relations existing between us at present, Mr. Linmere," she
answered, haughtily; "and if, in obedience to the wishes of the dead, we
should ever become connected in name, I beg leave to assure you in the
beginning that you will always be Mr. Linmere to me."

A flush of anger mounted to his cheek; he set his teeth, but outwardly he
was calm and subdued. Anger, just at present, was impolitic.

"I hope to win your love, Margie; I trust I shall," he answered, sadly
enough to have aroused almost any woman's pity; but some subtle instinct
told Margie he was false to the core.

But all through the evening he was affable and complaisant and
forbearing. She made no attempt to conceal her dislike of him.
Concealments were not familiar to Margie's nature. She was frank
and open as the day.

Mr. Linmere's fascinations were many and varied. He had a great deal of
adaptation, and made himself agreeable to every one. He had traveled
extensively, was a close observer, and had a retentive memory. Mr.
Trevlyn was charmed with him. So was Alexandrine Lee, a friend of
Margie's, a rival belle, who accidentally (?) dropped in to spend the