The Rebellion of Margaret | Page 3

with tears as she spoke. "I am very, very miserable. Nobody loves
me, and I have nobody to love except you, of course, Eleanor
Humphreys, and sometimes I cannot make believe that you are real at
all."
"Margaret!" said the old man, breaking into speech at last, and in a very
harsh voice. "What folly is this? To whom are you talking? Who is this
Eleanor Humphreys? Where is she?"
[Illustration: "MARGARET," SAID THE OLD MAN, BREAKING
INTO SPEECH AT LAST, AND IN A VERY HARSH VOICE,
"WHAT FOLLY IS THIS?"]
And with both hands resting on his stick, which was planted firmly on
the ground in front of him, he darted suspicious searching glances
among the surrounding trees.
At the sound of her name uttered in those hard tones Margaret had
sprung to her feet; her face, pale before, had turned yet paler, and her
big hazel eyes fastened themselves with a terror-stricken expression on
her grandfather's face.
"How dare you encourage people to come into my grounds and talk to
you without my permission? Have I not expressly forbidden you to
make acquaintances without my knowledge. Who is this Eleanor
Humphreys? Where is she hiding? What does she mean by coming here
and asking you to accompany her to tennis parties and dances? Answer
me. Tell me who she is, and how she comes to be here without my
knowledge."
"She is nobody; she--she is nowhere," stammered Margaret, whose
trembling lips could scarcely frame the words.

"Nobody, nowhere," thundered the old man. "Don't dare to trifle with
me, Margaret. Show her to me immediately, and I will tell her, whoever
she may be, what I think of her for presuming to come here without my
leave."
Margaret's lips gave a sudden little twitch, which showed that, badly
frightened as she was, a hint of the humour of the situation had dawned
upon her mind.
"You--you can't scold her, grandfather. She--she isn't real. She is my
dream friend."
There was a momentary silence, during which Margaret, glancing
timidly at her grandfather's stern and angry face and reading there the
contemptuous scorn which he felt for her unworthy self, wished that the
earth might open and swallow her up. But as it remained unyieldingly
firm she had perforce to remain above ground and endure to the full his
prolonged scrutiny.
"So," he said at length, and if anything had been wanting to complete
her discomfiture and to drive away any lingering feeling of mirth, his
tone would have been more than sufficient for that purpose, "so this is
the manner in which you pass your time. In dreaming about imaginary
people, and in holding conversations remarkable for their utter inanity
with them, about tennis parties and dances and pink chiffon parasols."
Failing a yawning chasm at her feet, Margaret would have been
thankful if that same pink parasol had been a reality at that moment,
and in her hand, so that she could have held it as a screen between her
crimsoning face and his pitiless old eyes. She writhed inwardly to think
that all the idle fancies in which she had been indulging during the
afternoon had been poured into her grandfather's angry ears. And it was
positive agony to her shy nature to know that her shadowy friend was
no longer her own secret.
"Kindly have the goodness to answer my question. Seeing that but a
few minutes have elapsed since you were proving yourself capable of
sustaining both sides of a conversation, I think that it cannot be too

great a strain upon you to reply to my question now. Do you hear me?"
All trace of anger had vanished now both from Mr. Anstruther's face
and from his manner, and he spoke in the cold, precise tones, and
framed his sentences in the rather stilted manner habitual to him.
"Yes, grandfather," Margaret gasped in a very small voice. She was
rarely at ease with her grandfather--he had never taken any pains to
render her so--and when he addressed her in tones of semi-sarcasm she
grew so disconcerted that she could not answer him coherently. And, as
the more confused she became the more caustic his tongue waxed; their
interviews, brief though they were, often concluded with anger on his
part and with tears on hers.
"Then I should be obliged if you would have the kindness to answer
me."
"I--I forget what it was that you asked me," stammered Margaret.
"Oh, I do not flatter myself that my questions can vie in interest with
those addressed to you by your imaginary friend. Nevertheless, I should
be glad if you will kindly pay attention to them. I asked you if it was in
this profitable manner that you usually passed your afternoons now."
"Sometimes, grandfather."
"Then I will find