"
Marguerite Verne was, indeed, an object of pity as she sat with her
eyes fixed upon the wall opposite, while a look of anguish now
settled down upon her features, and made them rigid as death.
"Don't worry, darling. I cannot bear to see you thus. If Hubert
Tracy is not willing to settle papa's affairs without sacrificing
your happiness, why let it go. Papa may get over it, and if he has
to face the world and earn his living by drudgery, it may do him
good in the end; if not, we cannot help it, my dear: So don't worry
any longer." And Mrs. Arnold swept across the room with the air of
an empress, while with her lace handkerchief she wiped the tears
from Marguerite's eyes.
"Has Hubert Tracy the full control of his estates, Eve?"
"Yes, Madge. He has had ever since his uncle died, which was more
than three months ago."
"Poor dear papa," murmured the girl in very bitterness of soul.
"She will come to it yet," thought Mrs. Arnold, "nothing succeeds
like moderation," and with the most consummate adroitness commenced
asking questions concerning her mother.
"You know, Madge, that mamma is so much wrapped up in Sir Arthur,
the ugly old bore, that she can listen to no one else, and for no
other reason than to have you addressed as 'my lady.
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