"They are often our best friends who use the plainest speech," said
Irene. "No, Margaret, I am not going to be angry with one whom I
know to be true-hearted."

"Not truer-hearted than your husband, Miss Irene; nor half so
loving."

"Why did you say that?" Margaret started at the tone of voice in
which this interrogation was made.

"Because I think so," she answered naively.

Irene looked at her for some moments with a penetrating gaze, and
then said, with an affected carelessness of tone--

"Your preacher and your dreams have made you quite a moralist."

"They have not taken from my heart any of the love it has felt for
you," said Margaret, tears coming into her eyes.

"I know that, Margaret. You were always too kind and indulgent, and
I always too wayward and unreasonable. But I am getting years on my
side, and shall not always be a foolish girl."

Snow had now begun to fall thickly, and the late December day was
waning toward the early twilight. Margaret went down stairs and left
Irene alone in her chamber, where she remained until nearly tea-time
before joining her father.