"Peggy!" he cried, in a frightened whisper. He could not believe, you see, that it was the woman he loved who was speaking.
And for my part, I admit frankly that at this very point, if ever in her life, Margaret deserved a thorough shaking.
"Dear me," she airily observed, "I'm sure I've said nothing out of the way. I think it speaks very well for you that you're so fond of your old home--so anxious to regain it at _any_ cost. It's quite touching, Mr. Woods."
She raised her eyes toward his. I dare say she was suffering as much as he. But women consider it a point of honour to smile when they stab; Margaret smiled with an innocence that would have seemed overdone in an angel.
Then, in an instant, she had the grace to be abjectly ashamed of herself. Billy's face had gone white. His mouth was set, mask-like, and his breathing was a little perfunctory. It stung her, though, that he was not angry. He was sorry.
"I--I see," he said, very carefully. "You think I--want the money. Yes--I see."
"And why not?" she queried, pleasantly. "Dear me, money's a very sensible thing to want, I'm sure. It makes a great difference, you know."
He looked down into her face for a moment. One might have sworn this detected fortune-hunter pitied her.
"Yes," he assented, slowly, "it makes a difference--not a difference for the better, I'm afraid, Peggy."
Then Margaret tossed her head. She was fast losing her composure. She would have given the world to retract what she had said, and accordingly she resolved to brazen it out.
"You needn't look at me as if I were a convicted criminal," she said, sharply. "I won't marry you, and there's an end of it."
"It isn't that I'm thinking of," said Mr. Woods, with a grave smile. "You see, it takes me a little time to realise your honest opinion of me. I believe I understand now. You think me a very hopeless cad--that's about your real opinion, isn't it, Peggy? I didn't know that, you see. I thought you knew me better than that. You did once, Peggy--once, a long time ago, and--and I hoped you hadn't quite forgotten that time."
"Oh, oh, _oh!_" she cried, gasping. "_You_ to remind me of that time!--you of all men. Haven't you a vestige of shame? Haven't you a rag of honour left? Oh, I didn't know there were such men in the world! And to think--to think--" Margaret's glorious voice broke, and she wrung her hands helplessly.