CHAPTER VI
Mrs. Maynard slowly went upstairs and along the hall to her daughter's room. Margaret sat listlessly by a window. The girls had gone.
"You were going for a long walk," said Mrs. Maynard.
"I'm tired," replied Margaret. There was a shadow in her eyes.
The mother had never understood her daughter. And of late a subtle change in Margaret had made her more of a puzzle.
"Margaret, I want to talk seriously with you," she began.
"Well?"
"Didn't I tell you I wanted you to break off your—your friendship with Holt Dalrymple?"
"Yes," replied Margaret, with a flush. "I did not—want to."
"Well, the thing which concerns you now is—he can't be regarded as a possibility for you."
"Possibility?" echoed Margaret.
"Just that, exactly. I'm not sure of your thoughts on the matter, but it's
