Maggie felt sore; she scarcely knew why. Her voice was bright, her
eyes shining, her cheeks radiant in their rich and lovely bloom. But
there was a quality in her voice which Hammond recognized-- a certain
ring which meant defiance and which prophesied to those who knew her
well that one of her bad half-hours was not very far off.
Maggie seated herself near a girl who was a comparative stranger and
began to talk. Hammond drew near and made a third in the conversation.
Maggie talked in the brilliant, somewhat reckless fashion which she
occasionally adopted. Hammond listened, now and then uttered a short
sentence, now and then was silent, with disapproval in his eyes.
Maggie read their expression like a book.
"He shall be angry with me," she said to herself. Her words became a
little wilder. The sentiments she uttered were the reverse of those
Hammond held.
Soon a few old friends came up. They were jolly, merry, good-humored
girls, who were all prepared to look up to Maggie Oliphant and to
worship her beauty and cleverness if she would allow them. Maggie
welcomed the girls with effusion, let them metaphorically sit at her
feet and proceeded to disenchant them as hard as she could.
Some garbled accounts of the auction at St.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195