feet, turning her flaming face at intervals toward the spot in the smiling landscape that had last held the figure of Philip Haig.
The shame of it! She had never--never--never been treated so outrageously. It was unendurable--and she had endured it! She flung herself down on the ground and wept.
* * * * *
Marion was now facing life alone. Her nearest remaining relative was her cousin, Claire Huntington. Her mother--a Southern girl who might have stepped out of a panel by Fragonard, so fine and soft and Old-World-like was her beauty--had died when she was still a child. Her father, Doctor Gaylord, was the antithesis of the sprite-like creature he had married,--a big, athletic, outdoor sort of man, with truly violent red hair and beard, whose favorite expression about himself had been that a very capable pirate had been sacrificed to make a tolerable physician. But he had prospered in his profession; and then had died with amazing suddenness, leaving his estate in an almost hopeless mess.<
