Thus relieved from espionage, Maggie became a little more like herself, though a sense of the injustice done her by her grandmother, together with the deception she knew she was practicing, wore upon her; and the servants at their work listened in vain for the merry laugh they had loved so well to hear.  In the present state of Margaret’s feelings Madam Conway deemed it prudent to say nothing of Arthur Carrollton, whose name was never mentioned save by Theo and Anna, the latter of whom had seen him in England, and was never so well pleased as when talking of his fine country seat, his splendid park, his handsome horses, and last, though not least, of himself.  “He is,” she said, “without exception, the most elegant and aristocratic young man I have ever seen;” and then for more than an hour she would entertain Theo with a repetition of the many agreeable things he had said to her during the one day she had spent at his house while Madam Conway was visiting there.

In perfect indifference, Maggie, who was frequently present, would listen to these stories, sometimes listlessly turning the leaves of a book, and again smiling scornfully as she thought how impossible it was that the fastidious Arthur Carrolton should have been at all pleased with a girl like Anna Jeffrey; and positive as Maggie was that she hated him, she insensibly began to feel a very slight degree of interest in him; at least, she would like to know how he looked; and one day when her grandmother and Theo were riding she stole cautiously to the box where she knew his picture lay, and, taking it out, looked to see if he were so very fine-looking.

Yes, he was,—­Maggie acknowledged that; and, sure that she hated him terribly, she lingered long over that picture, admiring the classically shaped head, the finely cut mouth, and more than all the large dark eyes which seemed so full of goodness and truth.  “Pshaw!” she exclaimed at last, restoring the picture to its place; “if Henry were only a little taller, and had as handsome eyes, he’d be a great deal better-looking.  Anyway, I like him, and I hate Arthur Carrollton, who I know is domineering, and would try to make me mind.  He has asked for my daguerreotype, grandma says—­one which looks as I do now.  I’ll send it too,” and she burst into a loud laugh at the novel idea which had crossed her mind.

That day when Madam Conway returned from her ride she was surprised at Maggie’s proposing that Theo and herself should have their likenesses taken for Arthur Carrollton.

“If he wants my picture,” said she, “I am willing he shall have it.  It is all he’ll ever get.”

Delighted at this unexpected concession, Madam Conway gave her consent, and the next afternoon found Theo and Maggie at the daguerrean gallery in Hillsdale, where the latter astonished both her sister and the artist by declaring her intention of not only sitting with her bonnet and shawl on; but also of turning her back to the instrument!  It was in vain that Theo remonstrated!  “That position or none,” she said; and the picture was accordingly taken, presenting a very correct likeness, when finished, of a bonnet, a veil, and a shawl, beneath which Maggie Miller was supposed to be.