“MAIMIE.”
“Do you think your father will like that?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said; “but it is true. I must see him. Things can’t go on like this. And the only way to bring him was to write strongly.”
“What is the question you have to ask, my dear?”
She looked at me, half sadly. “Can you wait till he comes? I’ll ask it before you, if you like. But I would rather not tell you now.”
Maimie had her own way as usual, and kept her little secret. I could have wished that the letter had been rather differently worded. However, it was gone and might not be recalled; and I would not worry Maimie by expressing my doubts more plainly, Later in the day I told my husband something of what had passed; and he and I waited curiously to see results.
Maimie was on the look-out next day. It reminded me of the time when she first came to us, and when she so eagerly watched for tidings of her stepfather. Every ring and every knock brought a flush into her face.
The morning passed thus, fruitlessly; and Maimie was growing pale with anxiety. A good part of the afternoon went in like manner. Maimie would not leave the house for a moment. Cherry had gone out to do some distant shopping. Robert and Jack were absent as usual at their work; and the younger boys were at school. Maimie and I sat alone together.
Suddenly there came a sharp knock, and again Maimie flushed and paled.
This time disappointment was not in store. The front door was opened, and immediately afterward Churton himself walked into the room.