“I can not tell you what a great pleasure and privilege this is for me,” said Margaret, and her blue eyes had an expression of admiring rapture.  The girl upon whom the eyes were fixed, blushed and giggled and tossed her head with a sudden show of pride.  She quite agreed that it was a pleasure and privilege for Margaret to see her, the author of Hearts Astray, even if Margaret was herself so charming and so provokingly well dressed.  Miss Martha Wallingford did not hide her light of talent under a bushel with all her shyness, which was not really shyness at all but a species of rather sullen pride and resentment because she was so well aware that she could not do well the things which were asked of her and had not mastered the art of dress and self poise.

Therefore, Martha, with the delight of her own achievements full upon her face, which was pretty, although untutored, regarded her visitor with an expression which almost made Margaret falter.  It was probably the absurd dressing of the girl’s hair which restored Margaret’s confidence in her scheme.  Martha Wallingford actually wore a frizzled bang, very finely frizzled too, and her hair was strained from the nape of her neck, and it seemed impossible that a young woman who knew no better than to arrange her hair in such fashion, should not be amenable to Margaret’s plan.  The plan, moreover, sounded very simple, except for the little complications which might easily arise.  Margaret smiled into the pretty face under the fuzz of short hair.

“My dear Miss Wallingford,” said she, “I have come this morning to beg a favour.  I hope you will not refuse me, although I am such an entire stranger.  If, unfortunately, my intimate friend, Mrs. Fay-Wyman, of whom I assume that you of course know, even if you have not met her, as you may easily have done, or her daughter, Miss Edith Fay-Wyman, had not left town last week for their country house, Rose-In-Flower, at Hyphen-by-the-Sea, a most delightful spot.  Mr. Edes and I have spent several week ends there.  I am prevented from spending longer than week ends because I am kept at home by my two darling twin daughters.  Mrs. Fay-Wyman is a sweet woman and I do so wish I could have brought her here to-day.  I am sure you would at once fall madly in love with her and also with her daughter, Miss Edith Fay-Wyman, such a sweet girl, and—­” But here Margaret was unexpectedly, even rudely interrupted by Miss Wallingford, who looked at her indignantly.

“I never fall in love with women,” stated that newly risen literary star abruptly, “why should I?  What does it amount to?”

“Oh, my dear,” cried Margaret, “when you are a little older you will find that it amounts to very much.  There is a soul sympathy, and—­”

“I don’t think that I care much about soul sympathy,” stated Miss Wallingford, who was beginning to be angrily bewildered by her guest’s long sentences, which so far seemed to have no point as far as she herself was concerned.