Miss Lawson looked at her keenly.
“No,” she replied; “it is not too late. Strangely enough, I have heard from my sister again, urging me to persuade you. This letter I am writing is to her. I can tear it up.”
Margery felt the first thrill of pleasure she had experienced during the long, dreary day.
“And soon—may I go soon?” she asked.
“The sooner the better—in fact, to-morrow, if you can be ready.”
“I could be ready to-night,” Margery answered, with a weary sigh, pushing aside her curls.
“Then I will telegraph to my sister in the morning, when you start. I will go with you to Chesterham and see you into the train, and I think you had better get yourself one or two things when there; you can repay me out of your first quarter’s salary.”
Margery bent her lips to Miss Lawson’s hand.
“I can never thank you sufficiently,” she whispered; “you are too good to me.”
Miss Lawson pulled away her hand with a jerk; but her face bore no trace of anger.