Anyhow, of all mornings this would be the worst for him to catch her at the glass.
"Yes ?" she called.
"Margaret," came in his voice.

And, oh, the difference in it!--the note of tenderness--no, it was not imagination, it was really there! Her eyes filled and her bosom heaved.
"Are you joining me at breakfast ?" "Come in," cried she.
When the door did not open she went and opened it.

There stood HE! If he had greeted her with a triumphant, proprietorial expression she would have been--well, it would have given her a lowered opinion of his sensibility.

But his look was just right--dazzled, shy, happy.

Nor did he make one of his impetuous rushes.