garet knew better than to say anything of the kind, but she couldn't help looking as innocent as a child and saying:
"Won't she?"
"How do I know?" said Peter. "I have come to ask her."
He looked so very strong and manly and frank that Margaret, whose world had been terribly blue recently, was half tempted to throw herself into his arms and cry.
"O Peter!" she said pitifully.
He came and sat beside her on the sofa, and drew her close to him.
"My darling," he said brokenly.
A great sense of trust and security stole over Margaret, but she knew that it was not love. Yet for a moment she hesitated, for she knew that if she took this man, his arm would always be about her, and he would always—always—always be good to her. As she sat there, not trusting herself to speak, she had her first doubt of Aladdin, and she wondered if he loved her as much—as much as he loved Aladdin. Then she felt like a traitor.
