Lawson, but there is a restraint
between us that I suppose under the circumstances is only natural. I
am the affianced wife of Hubert Tracy and Phillip Lawson is not the
man to take advantage of his influence."
A heavy sigh escaped Marguerite and instantly she raised both hands
as if to compress the aching brow and wearied brain.
In the quiet of her own chamber Marguerite Verne felt that she was
safe from human eyes. She longed to give vent to her pent up sorrow,
and sitting down upon a pretty ottoman (the work of her own
industrious hands) uttered a low and mournful wail--such only as
would express a broken heart.
"Oh Phillip Lawson, it is hard to meet you every day of my life and
to know that we are strangers indeed--yes, worse than strangers. Oh,
my sad heart. None but heaven will ever know what I have suffered
and am suffering now. Oh, Phillip! Phillip! why is your image ever
before me! Why do you approach me with your grave but kind face and
hold out your hand in tenderest sympathy! Oh, my heart, it is
maddening! Why was I born to such feeling! Why was I cursed with the
susceptibilities of a warm and loving heart! Why were not these
sympathetic chords torn rudely asunder ere they could vibrate with
such anguish! Why did not my heart turn into stone ere it took root
in such deadly bitter soil! Ah well, love is common and grief is
common--'Never morning wore to evening but some heart did break.
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