But, by and by, she questioned me. "Are you sure--quite sure," she queried, wistfully, "that you wouldn't rather have me Margaret Hugonin, the heiress?"
I raised a deprecatory hand. "Avis!" I reproached her; "Avis, Avis, how little you know me! That was the solitary fly in the amber,--that I thought I was to marry a woman named Margaret. For I am something of a connoisseur in nomenclature, and Margaret has always--always--been my pet detestation in the way of names."
