Fair Margaret
Page 119The man held the door open for Margaret to get in, when she came out
upon the step with Mrs. Rushmore, who seemed anxious to keep an eye on
her as long as possible; as if she could project an influence of
propriety, a sort of astral chaperonage, that would follow the girl to
the city. She detained her at the last minute, holding her by the
elbow. The chauffeur stood impassive with his hand on the door, while
she delivered herself of her final opinion in English, which of course
he could not understand.
'I must say that your sudden intimacy with this suspicious Greek is
most extraordinary,' she said.
'Don't you think there is just a little prejudice in your opinion of
him?' asked Margaret sweetly.
very strange that a clever girl like you should be so easily taken in
by a foreigner. Much worse than a foreigner, my dear! A Greek is almost
as bad as a Turk, and we all know what Turks are! Fancy a decent young
woman trusting herself alone with a Turk! I declare, it's not to be
believed! Your dear mother's daughter too! You'll end in a harem,
Margaret, mark my word.' 'And be sewn up in a sack and thrown into the Bosphorus,' laughed
Margaret, trying to get away.
'Such things have happened before now,' said Mrs. Rushmore gloomily.
'Greeks don't have harems,' Margaret objected.
'Don't catch cold,' said Mrs. Rushmore, by way of refuting Margaret's
argument. 'It looks as if it might rain.' The morning was still and soft and overcast, and the air was full of
birds chirped rather plaintively from the trees on the lawn, or stood
about the edge of the little pond apparently expecting something to
happen, hopping down to the water occasionally, looking down at the
reflections in it and then hopping back again with a dissatisfied air;
and they muffled themselves up in their feathers as if they meant to go
to sleep, and then suddenly spread their wings out, without flying, and
scraped the grass with them. The elms were quite green already, and the
oaks were pushing out thousands of bright emerald leaves. There is a
day in every spring when the maiden year reaches full girlhood, and
pauses on the verge of woman's estate, to wonder at the mysterious
longings that disquiet all her being, and at the unknown music that
Margaret sat in the motor car wrapped in a wide thin cloak and covering
her mouth lest the rush of air should affect her voice; but the quick
motion was pleasant, and she felt all the illusion of accomplishing
something worth doing, merely because she was spinning along at
breakneck speed. Somehow, too, the still air and the smell of the
flowers had made her restless that morning before starting, and the
rapid movement soothed her. If she had been offered her choice just
then, she would perhaps have been on horseback for a gallop across
country, but the motor car was certainly the next best thing to that.