Marguerite Verne | Page 2

"Marguerite I am
tired running, I thought I never would get up to you. Golly, how you do
streak along!"
"Charlie Verne, you naughty boy," returned the girl as she confronted
her pet brother, his childish face aglow with the late exercise, "I
thought you were going to keep house with Winnie?'
"So I was," said the boy, eyeing his sister closely to watch the effect of
his speech, "but the Listers have arrived and I had to run and tell you."
At this announcement Marguerite Verne could scarce repress a hearty
laugh and her large, deep violet eyes sparkled, and from their changing
expressions exhibited such variety of shade that one would scarce
venture to say which was the original one.
A deeper tinge now rested upon the purely oval cheek as the girl
returned the recognition of a thoughtful-looking young man who had
the air and manner of one possessed with more common sense than
generally falls to the lot of the young men courted by the creme de la
creme.
"Miss Verne, I see that you too are bent upon enjoying this glorious
evening; the old year is going out in all its serenity."
"Yes indeed, Mr. Lawson; the old year is dying with all the true
greatness that characterizes its life; it has left nothing undone, and if we

have failed to garner up its hours sacredly, to us--not it--we lay the
blame."
"True indeed; but how little do we think of those lessons until they are
beyond reach. We make grand resolutions on each New Year, but how
often do they go to the winds ere the first week has passed around."
Phillip Lawson's words took an earnest tone and his manner was
earnest also. His rich, deep voice found its way far down in the
maiden's heart; but she would not allow herself to think so. She would
not acknowledge to herself that the restless emotions within her heart
were other than a passing thought to a very dear friend! She must not
see that Phillip Lawson, in his gifted, manly character, was her hero of
all that was good and true, and that his was the nature by which she
tested others.
As the foregoing remarks turned into a lengthy conversation Marguerite
scarcely heeded that Trinity chimed out the hour of nine when the trio
turned their steps homeward, Master Charlie forming an advance guard,
and making the air resound with all the hilarity at his command when
he came in friendly contact with some of his "fellers" as he expressed
himself.
When Marguerite bade good night to her companion and stood for a
moment in the hallway watching the retreating figure, we will not
disclose her thoughts, but will follow her to the drawing-room, where
"the Listers" are marshalled en masse awaiting her return.
"Marguerite, you darling!" exclaimed the eldest Miss Lister rushing
forward and embracing the former in a manner that was more
demonstrative than conventional, but was accepted with the best of
grace, notwithstanding there was to be a repetition four times in
succession.
Mrs. Lister was a distant cousin of Mr. Verne, and having six
marriageable daughters on hand, had recourse to much diplomacy in
the way of matrimonial speculations. For several years she had been in
the habit of spending the New Year with the Verne family, each year

adding one more eligible, until she has now the happy six.
It had ever been the boast of Mrs. Lister that she had attended boarding
school, and carried off several prizes for her classic ability; and in order
to establish the fact, had named her six daughters after six of the Muses.
Clio, the eldest, inherited the largest part of her mother's ability.
The former often regretted that three unruly boys came to interrupt the
succession of the classic nine.
But all this addition of inspiration at this festive season did not inspire
the Verne family with any such high-toned sentiments as might have
been expected.
"Marguerite Verne," explained the haughty Evelyn, the imperious
first-born of the family, "you are enough to drive anyone distracted!
How can you submit so tamely to being bored to death by such pests?
Indeed, Aunt Hester with all her wisdom is preferable to that empty
headed woman and her muses."
Marguerite had retired to her own room. She was sitting at a small
ebony writing desk, jotting down a few thoughts in her diary When her
sister entered, but now arose and drew forth a luxurious arm-chair for
the imperious beauty to recline in.
"If worrying myself to death would do me any good, I might try it too,
Evelyn; but as it does not, I try to make the best of it."
"There you are again, with your philosophical ideas. I must expect
nothing