I'm glad it is no worse." And with each new indication of refinement
in Margaret's relatives the disgrace seemed less and less in the mind
of the proud Englishwoman.
The ringing of the bell brought down Janet, who, with an inquisitive
look at the satin hood and bundle of shawls, ushered the stranger
into the parlor, and then went for her mistress. Taking the card her
servant brought, Mrs. Warner read with some little trepidation the
name "Madam Conway, Hillsdale." From what she had heard, she was not
prepossessed in the lady's favor; but, curious to know why she was
there at this early hour, she hastened the making of her toilet, and
went down to the parlor, where Madam Conway sat, coiled in one corner
of the sofa, which she had satisfied herself was covered with real
brocatel, as were also the chairs within the room. The tables of
rosewood and marble, and the expensive curtains had none of them
escaped her notice, and in a mood which more common furniture would
never have produced Madam Conway arose to meet Mrs. Warner, who
received her politely, and then waited to hear her errand.
It was told in a few words. She had come for Margaret--Margaret, whom
she had loved for eighteen years, and could not now cast off, even
though she were not of the Conway and Davenport extraction.
"I can easily understand how painful must have been the knowledge that
Maggie was not your own," returned Mrs.
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