A wearied look rested upon the girl's face. She
was heartily worn out with the excessive fatigue attending
fashionable life.
"Well, it seems that I am fated for a martyr, and I must calmly
submit," said she, loosening the luxuriant mass of silken hair that
had been arranged to suit the most fastidious taste of Mrs. Arnold.
Donning a loose wrapper, and exchanging the pretty white satin
slippers for a pair of soft morocco ones. Marguerite threw herself
into a large and inviting arm-chair.
"I will not allow myself to think. My thoughts are rebellious," and
immediately a pretty little pocket Testament found its way into the
girl's hand.
A few words escaped Marguerite's lips as if an invocation was asked;
then she read aloud the thirteenth chapter of Corinthians: "Though I
speak with the tongue of men and angels," etc.
The sweet voice of the reader was not heard in vain. Marguerite
closed the book and remained motionless for some moments, when she
fancied that there was a noise as if some one were listening at the
door.
"I am so foolish. My nerves are unstrung from keeping late hours,"
murmured she. Then hastily glancing towards the spot whence the
sound proceeded Marguerite knelt down and prayed that an
All-Merciful Providence would keep her from the temptations of
fashionable society.
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