it was two evenings prior to the day fixed for miss trevennon’s return to her home. january, with its multifarious engagements, had passed, and february was well advanced. it had been a very happy time to margaret, and, now that her visit was almost at an end, she found herself much prone to reverie, and constantly falling into quiet fits of musing. there was much pleasant food for thought in looking back, but an instinct constantly warned her against looking forward.

on this particular evening, miss trevennon and louis gaston were alone. cousin eugenia had gone to her room, and general gaston was out. margaret had observed that she quite often found herself alone with mr. gaston lately, and she even fancied sometimes that cousin eugenia contrived to have it so. she smiled to think of the multiplicity of cousin eugenia’s little manœuvres, and the book she had been reading fell to her lap. she glanced toward louis, sitting some little distance off at the other side of the fire-place; but he was quite lost to view behind the opened sheet of the evening star. so miss trevennon fixed her eyes on the fire, and fell into a fit of musing.

she was looking her best to-night. there had been guests at dinner, and she was dressed accordingly. black suited her better than anything else, and the costume of black silk and lace which she wore now was exquisitely becoming. her rounded, slender arms were bare, and a snowy patch of her lovely neck was visible above the lace of her square corsage. her long black draperies fell richly away to one side, over the turkey rug, and as she rested lightly on the angle of her little high heel, with one foot, in its dainty casing of black silk stocking and low-cut slipper, lightly laid across the other, her graceful, easy attitude and elegant toilet made her a striking figure, apart from the distinguished beauty of her face. louis gaston, who had noiselessly lowered his paper, took in every detail of face, figure, attitude and costume, with a sense of keen appreciation, and, as he continued to look, a sudden smile of merriment curved his lips. miss trevennon, looking up, met this smile, and smiled in answer to it.

“what is it?” she said. “what were you thinking of?”

“may i tell you?” he asked, still smiling.

“yes; please do.”

“i was recalling the fact that, when you first arrived—before i had seen you—i used to speak of you to eugenia as ‘the importation.’ it is no wonder that i smile now at the remembrance.”

“it was very impertinent, undoubtedly,” said margaret; “but i won’t refuse to forgive you, if you, in your turn, will agree to forgive me my impertinences, which have been many.”

“it would be necessary to recall them first,” he said, “and that i am unable to do.”

“i have been dictatorial and critical and aggressive, and i have had no right to be any of these. i have magnified my own people persistently, in talking to you, and depreciated yours. you mustn’t take me as a specimen of southern courtesy. wait till you see my father. i’m a degenerate daughter.”

“i hope i may see him some time. knowing you has made me wish to know your people better. if i ask you, some day, to let me come and make their acquaintance, what will you say?”

“come, and welcome,” said margaret, heartily; and then, as a consciousness of the warmth of her tone dawned upon her, she added: “we are a hospitable race, you know, and hold it a sacred duty to entertain strangers. but i fear you would find us disappointing in a great many ways. in so many points, and these very essential ones, we are inferior to you. if only we could both get rid of our prejudices! just think what a people we might be, if we were kneaded together, each willing to assimilate what is best in the other! but i suppose that is a utopian dream. as far as my small observation goes, it seems to me that we in the south see things on a broader basis, and that a gentleman’s claim to meet another gentleman on equal terms rests upon something higher and stronger than trifling technicalities such as using printed visiting-cards, or calling a dress-coat ‘a swallow-tail,’ for instance!” she said, with twinkling eyes. “i know you’ve had those two scores against my compatriots on your mind. now, haven’t you?”

“i will wipe them off instantly, if i have,” he said, laughing. “i feel amiably disposed to-night. i think it is the prospect of your departure that has softened me. i hope you are one little bit sorry to leave us. it would be but a small return for the colossal regret we feel at parting from you.”

“i am sorry,” she said, with her eyes fixed on the fire—“very, very sorry.”

“really?” he said quickly, not daring to give voice to the delight with which her fervently uttered admission filled him.

“yes, really. you have all been so good to me. i think general gaston has even decided to forgive me for being a southerner, since i could not possibly help it, which is a higher tribute than the regard of cousin eugenia and yourself, perhaps, as you had no prejudices to overcome.”

“you have paid me the greatest possible compliment,” said louis. “i would rather you should say that than anything, almost. you must admit, however, that at one time you would not have said it.”

“that is quite true; but i think now that i did you injustice.”

“no, i don’t think you did. it was true at one time that i was very prejudiced, and to a certain extent it is true yet; but you’ve worked wonders with me, miss trevennon. i do think i see things more fairly than i did. i had a great deal of hereditary and inherent prejudice to overcome, and i think i have got rid of a good portion of it, thanks to you! who knows but, if you could have kept me near you, you might have reformed me yet? of course, i should not venture to criticise a decision of yours, but when eugenia urged you so, the other day, to stay a month longer, do you know, i almost held my breath to hear what you would say? and your positive refusal quite cut me. it’s rather hard on a man, to learn that his education is to be cut short at one fell blow like that; and i am in horrible fear of retrogression.”

“oh, don’t laugh at me, mr. gaston,” said margaret, rather confusedly. “i am afraid i must often have seemed to you conceited and pert. i believe i am, a little. even my dear father tells me so, now and then.”

“how you love your home and your parents!” said louis, looking at her very gently. “i have so often observed it. is it a provincial trait? i never saw a stronger feeling than the one you have for your household gods.”

“yes, i do love them,” margaret said; “and i can give no stronger proof of it than that cousin eugenia’s invitation does not tempt me to remain longer away from them.”

“and do they love you very much—or not?” he asked, looking into her face and smiling brightly.

“oh yes,” she answered, smiling too; “as if i were perfection.”

“i almost think you are,” he replied. “i said to myself, from the first, ‘she is well-named margaret, for she’s just a pearl.’”

simply and quietly as he said it, there was something in his tone that thrilled her with a sudden emotion. she dared not raise her eyes to his, and so she turned away her flushed face as she answered, with an effort to speak as usual:

“i am named for my mother. papa calls me daisy, to distinguish us.”

“i think that suits you almost as well,” he said. “your feelings are so fresh—not a whiff of their perfume brushed away yet. what a thing it would be for one of the careworn, weary worldlings one meets every day, to have your heart in her bosom for just one hour! and oh, what a revelation of falseness and hollowness and envy it would be to you to see into a heart like that! god protect you from it, margaret! i am almost glad that you are going back to that quiet old country-place. it gives me a pang merely to think of the possibility of your being contaminated by the world. i could not bear to face the thought that the pearl might lose its pureness and the daisy wither. i have tried that no one shall suspect the fact, but you don’t know how i have watched over you. it was presumptuous of me, perhaps, but now that you know it, do you forgive me?”

poor margaret! she made a brave struggle for self-mastery, but it was only half successful. apart from his words, there was something in his looks and tones that made what he had said a revelation to her. there could be but one meaning in those fervent, tender eyes, and the sound of the caressing voice.

“you once refused to shake hands with me,” louis went on, presently. “do you remember? i was in disgrace then, but i can’t help hoping i’m restored. will you give me your hand now, in token of full pardon for the past?”

he had taken a seat very near to her, and when he extended his hand she laid hers in it, without moving from her place. he held it close, for an instant, and then, stooping, laid his lips upon it.

margaret suffered the caress in silence. she felt nerveless and irresponsible, but her whole nature responded to these signs of tenderness from him. she knew his heart was seeking hers, which was ready to answer, at a touch. she felt confused and tremulous, but very happy and contented and safe, and when she presently withdrew her hand from louis’, she gave him, in its stead, a look of the deepest confidence and kindness.

“there is something i want to tell you, margaret——” he began, and while she was almost holding her breath to listen, the sound of general gaston’s key was heard in the lock, and, with a quick motion, they moved apart.

as louis stood up and turned to meet his brother, margaret sank back in her seat with a quick sigh. the interruption was almost a relief. the sharp strain of this new-born hope and doubt and wonder was a pain to her, and she was glad to wait. the joy that had been thus held out to her was still to be secured, and she felt a happy safety in the bright future before her.

as for louis, his pulses thrilled with triumphant hope. all his doubts and misgivings melted like snow beneath the sweet, confiding looks and tones that margaret had vouchsafed to him this evening. he forgot charley somers and all his old mistrust concerning him, and felt happy in the present and almost secure of the future. his ardent blood was stirred as it had never been before. if mrs. gaston could have looked into his heart to-night, she could never again have called him cold and unemotional!