"I was looking for you, young moon-doves," she began, "because I want to separate you for one brief half hour. I have something very particular to say to my dear Margaret. Gentlemen, we will excuse you."
Margaret knew what was coming, and looked down uneasily, rolling a ribbon end between her fingers.
"Dear, I wanted to ask you if you had written to Philip when it is to be?"
"No, Sara."
"I think you ought."
"He will have heard, don't you think so?"
"How can one tell?—he is so shut off from the world at Thebes."
"And he has been there all the summer?"
"Yes, fighting the fever like a true knight of the Red Cross."
"He is a noble fellow; would it not be better for you to tell him of our marriage?"
"No, I can't. I can't do it; and I don't want him to read it in the papers. You must write him, and ask him to come."
"O Sara!"
"Yes, you or Robert; and I do not think that monsieur will undertake it."
This with a faint trace of satire in her voice. She could never quite forgive Feuardent. Margaret looked at her reproachfully, and then said
