Marguerite Verne | Page 6

very unnecessary thing to do."
"Unnecessary! Be careful, my dear little Madge, or I will out with the
whole truth; and if I do not bring the blushes to your cheek my name is
not Evelyn Verne."
"Come, come, girls--never mind more talk now," said Mrs. Verne,
rising from her seat, and motioning them to withdraw, at the same time
trying to conceal a look of displeasure that had contracted into a dark
frown.
Mrs. Verne was a woman not to be trifled with. She had a look of one
born to command, and well each member of her family was aware of
the fact. She was a handsome woman, of proud and dignified presence,
high-tempered, and in many instances unreasonable, her opinions being
strengthened by the force of circumstances, and very seldom on the
side of right. On this morning in question she was inclined to feel
somewhat ruffled at Marguerite, rather than the aggressor. Miss Verne
had thrown out a hint that was more effective than a well-timed speech
of polished oratory, and well she knew it.
"Such a ridiculous thing to think of," repeated the haughty mistress
with emphasis, as she swept from room to room giving orders to each
domestic, and arranging and rearranging matters to meet her own taste
and convenience. The pretty crimson cashmere morning robe, with

relief of creamy lace, hung in graceful folds and set off Mrs. Verne's
form to advantage; and as you looked upon her then and thought how
she must have looked more than twenty years in the past, you could not
blame Mr. Verne for seeking her to grace his luxurious and beautiful
home.
Evelyn Verne has picked up a very sensational novel and is languishing
on a divan of crimson velvet and old gold plush, with a drapery of
beautiful design which she had thrown aside. One arm is gracefully
curved around her head, while the other clasps the book, and in contrast
with the rich hue of oriental costume resembles that of polished ivory.
The passage being read is certainly pleasing--yes, rapturous--for a
current of an electrifying nature suffuses the slightly-pale cheeks and
delicate lips, and again Evelyn Verne wears a beauty that is fatal in its
effects. While the latter is engaged in this selfish manner we hasten to a
somewhat odd-looking apartment, which, from its confused array of
books, playthings, fishing-tackle, hammocks, old guns, powder-horns,
costumes that had assisted in personating pages and courtiers, and also
many other articles of less pretensions, might be taken for a veritable
curiosity-shop. A central figure gives interest to the surroundings and
prompts our curiosity to watch the proceedings.
The mischievous smile upon Marguerite Verne's face is of sufficient
proof that she is engaged in a pleasant occupation. She has pressed two
of the Misses Lister into willing service, and they are a happy group.
"What will this make, Madge?" yelled Charlie, with as much as his
lungs had capacity, holding up an old green velvet tunic with enormous
supply of tinsel.
"I'll go as Coeur de Lion, and wear it," exclaimed little Ned Bertram,
snatching the precious article from the other.
"Nonsense, children!" cried Marguerite, who, with her companions,
laughed long and heartily at the ludicrous representation of the "knight
of the black plume."

Considerable time had been spent in bringing these would-be heroes to
any decision as to their respective characters. Ned wished to be Richard
the Third, and Charlie that of Richmond and repeat the triumphs of
Bosworth; but meeting such obstinate opposition from their council,
turned their attention to "something commoner," as Ned expressed
himself. After several hours intermingled with side-splitting laughter
and grave discussion, a fair representation of Robinson Crusoe and his
man Friday was produced, while Marguerite and her friends received
more compliments from the young aspirants than the most gallant
cavalier of the sixteenth century ever paid to the queen of love and
beauty. But the last remark was a deep thrust from the innocent and
unconscious boy.
"You darling old Madge! I am going to tell Mr. Lawson you got us up,
and I am sure we will get the prize. And I bet you I'll not forget to put a
word in for you too, Miss Marguerite, and mind you Mr. Lawson don't
consider me no small account."
The manner in which this twelve-year-old urchin got off the speech had
a telling effect. His air of importance brought a burst of laughter, but it
could scarcely hide the blushes that played hide-and-seek on the girl's
face--which fact fortunately escaped the notice of the Listers.
The long-looked-for hour has arrived, and Crusoe and Friday emerge
from their "den," as Miss Verne contemptuously designated the
curiosity-shop. On this occasion Marguerite remains at home. Her
constitution is rather delicate, and owing to a slight