"Don't be alarmed, mamma, I am better," said the girl, attempting to
raise herself upon the pillow, but she fell back exhausted, and
closed her eyelids, looking sad and wretched.
Mrs. Verne was ill at ease as she watched at Marguerite's bedside.
Remorse for once seized upon her as she pictured herself moving
about the gay throng, and her child, perhaps, on the verge of death.
"I might have known that she did not look herself, for those great
circles around her mouth and eyes ought to have told me of her
illness; but I trust she will soon be all right."
Mrs. Verne took a second glance at the pale face to gain more
assurance and hope, and as she stood there tried hard to impute her
daughter's present indisposition to every source, but the real one.
"The poor girl is fretting herself to death over her father's
failure, for she knows that it will affect his reputation in
society. She will not acknowledge it, but I am certain that she
would feel the snubs of our most intimate friends more titan I
would. Indeed, they would kill the poor sensitive Madge; and to
think that Stephen Verne brought all this upon his family by his own
slackness. Talk about honesty! It makes fools of people.
Pages:
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396