"I must go away," poor Marjorie went on; "I can't stay here, I should suffocate!"
She sat up on the edge of her bed, and clasped her hands in utter desolation. Where could she go? Not to Cousin Ethel's, she'd only bring her back home. Home! She hadn't any home,—no real home! She thought of Grandma Sherwood's, but she wasn't her grandma at all! Then she thought of Grandma Maynard. That was a curious thought, for though Grandma Maynard wasn't her own grandmother, either, yet, a few months ago, she had begged Marjorie to live with her and be her little girl. Surely she must have known that Midget wasn't really her granddaughter, and yet she had really loved her enough to want her to live there.
Then Grandma Maynard wouldn't have to pretend to love her.
Clearly, that was the only thing to do. She couldn't run away, with no destination in view.
She had no claim on Grandma Sherwood or Uncle Steve, but Grandma Maynard had wanted her,—really wanted her.
Marjorie looked at the little clock on her dressing table. It was almost three o'clock. She knew there was a train to New York about three, and she resolved to go on it.
At first she thought of taking some things in a bag, but she decided not to, as she didn't want any of the things the Maynards had given her.
"Oh," she thought, while the tears came afresh; "my name isn't even Maynard! I don't know what it is!"
She put on a blue linen dress, and a blue hat with roses on it. Some instinct of sadness made her tie her hair with black ribbon.
As she went downstairs, she heard Mrs. Corey say, "I am astounded at these revelations!" and her mother replied, "Dear friend, I knew you would be."