"The boys have got some scheme on, I believe, mother," she said. "Dave and Sandy have been full of mystery all day, and Ross is pompous. I wish we weren't going to leave you alone to-night," she said tenderly.
"I like you to go with your father, dear—he will not stay for the music, so I shall not be alone long. And now—I must expect to lose you gradually, dear."
"Oh, not yet." With passion Marjorie pushed the thought away.
Many little hindrances occurred whilst she was dressing. One knock preceded the entrance of Sandy, an unwonted visitor at such a time. He looked eager and excited; but he stood fidgeting by Marjorie's dressing-table, watching the arrangement of her hair, and did not appear in any hurry to explain what he needed.
"Is all girl's hair done like that? What a bover it must be," he remarked after a little time. "I should like that tiny, squinchy, soft brush, Margie."
"What for?"
"To brush Barbie's hair. It's in a awfle mess."
"Well, take it," said Marjorie kindly. "And it's time you took her home. She goes to bed at seven, and you promised."
"Yes, but"—objected Sandy eagerly—"not to-day. Mr. Pelham said she might stay a bit longer. Is your bed or mine biggest, Margie?"