“Send the woman away,” commanded the old lady.

But Margaret merely closed the door.  “Well, Grandmother?”

“Sit at this desk,” ordered the old lady, pointing with the ebony staff, “and write a note to that man Craig, breaking the engagement.  Say you have thought it over and have decided it is quite impossible.  And to-morrow morning you go to New York with me.”

Margaret seated herself on the lounge instead.  “I’ll do neither,” said she.

The old lady waved the end of her staff in a gesture of lofty disdain.  “As you please.  But, if you do not, your allowance is withdrawn.”

“Certainly,” said Margaret.  “I assumed that.”

Madam Bowker gazed at her with eyes like tongues of flame.  “And how do you expect to live?” she inquired.

“That is our affair,” replied the girl.  “You say you are done with me.  Well, so am I done with you.”

It was, as Margaret had said, because she was not afraid of her grandmother that that formidable old lady respected her; and as she was one of those who can give affection only where they give respect, she loved Margaret—­loved her with jealous and carping tenacity.  The girl’s words of finality made her erect and unyielding soul shiver in a sudden dreary blast of loneliness, that most tragic of all the storms that sweep the ways of life.  It was in the tone of the anger of love with the beloved that she cried, “How dare you engage yourself to such a person!”

“You served notice on me that I must marry,” replied the girl, her own tone much modified.  “He was the chance that offered.”

“The chance!” Madam Bowker smiled with caustic scorn, “He’s not a chance.”

“You ordered me to marry.  I am marrying.  And you are violating your promise.  But I expected it.”

“My promise?  What do you mean?”

“You told me if I’d marry you’d continue my allowance after marriage.  You even hinted you’d increase it.”

“But this is no marriage.  I should consider a connection between such a man and a Severence as a mere vulgar intrigue.  You might as well run away with a coachman.  I have known few coachmen so ill-bred—­so repellent—­as this Craig.”

Margaret laughed cheerfully.  “He isn’t what you’d call polished, is he?”

Her grandmother studied her keenly.  “Margaret,” she finally said, “this is some scheme of yours.  You are using this engagement to help you to something else.”

“I refused Grant Arkwright just before you came.”

“You—­refused—­Arkwright?”

“My original plan was to trap Grant by making him jealous of Craig.  But I abandoned it.”

“And why?”

“A remnant of decency.”

“I doubt it,” said the old lady.

“So should I in the circumstances.  We’re a pretty queer lot, aren’t we?  You, for instance—­on the verge of the grave, and breaking your promise to me as if a promise were nothing.”