“I know he won’t.  He can’t.  Stillwater has kept him solely because that unspeakable wife of his hopes to foist their dull, ugly eldest girl on him.”

“You think a man as shrewd as Stillwater would marry his daughter to a nobody?”

“It’s useless for you to argue, Margaret,” snapped the old lady.  “The man’s impossible—­for a Severence.  I shall stop the engagement.”

“You can’t,” rejoined Margaret calmly.  “My mind is made up.  And along with several other qualities, Grandmother, dear, I’ve inherited your will.”

“Will without wit—­is there anything worse?  But I know you are not serious.  It is merely a mood—­the result of a profound discouragement.  My dear child, let me assure you it is no unusual thing for a girl of your position, yet without money, to have no offers at all.  You should not believe the silly lies your girlfriends tell about having bushels of offers.  No girl has bushels of offers unless she makes herself common and familiar with all kinds of men—­and takes their loose talk seriously.  Most men wouldn’t dare offer themselves to you.  The impudence of this Craig!  You should have ordered him out of your presence.”

Margaret, remembering how Craig had seized her, smiled.

“I admit I have been inconsiderate in urging you so vigorously,” continued her grandmother.  “I thought I had observed a tendency to fritter.  I wished you to stop trifling with Grant Arkwright—­or, rather, to stop his trifling with you.  Come, now, my dear, let me put an end to this engagement.  And you will marry Grant, and your future will be bright and assured.”

Margaret shook her head.  “I have promised,” said she, and her expression would have thrilled Lucia.

Madam Bowker was singularly patient with this evidence of sentimentalism.  “That’s fine and noble of you.  But you didn’t realize what a grave step you were taking, and you—­”

“Yes, but I did.  If ever anything was deliberate on a woman’s part, that engagement was.”  A bright spot burned in each of the girl’s cheeks.  “He didn’t really propose.  I pretended to misunderstand him.”

Her grandmother stared.

“You needn’t look at me like that,” exclaimed Margaret.  “You know very well that Grandfather Bowker never would have married you if you hadn’t fairly compelled him.  I heard him tease you about it once when I was a little girl.”

It was Madam Bowker’s turn to redden.  She deigned to smile.  “Men are so foolish,” observed she, “that women often have to guide them.  There would be few marriages of the right sort if the men were not managed.”

Margaret nodded assent.  “I realize that now,” said she.  Earnestly:  “Grandmother, try to make the best of this engagement of mine.  When a woman, a woman as experienced and sensible as I am, makes up her mind a certain man is the man for her, is it wise to interfere?”