"Come, come, little one, what's it all about?" he said.
His tone was kind, but his personality was not pleasant, and Marjorie felt no inclination to confide in him.
"Nothing, sir," she said, drawing as far away from him as possible.
"Now, now, little miss, you can't cry like that, and then say there's nothing the matter."
Marjorie wanted to rebuke his intrusion, but she didn't know exactly what to say, so she turned toward the window and resolutely kept looking out.
The trees and fields flying by were not very comforting. Every mile took her farther away from her dear ones, for they were dear, whether related to her or not.
She pressed her flushed cheeks against the cool window pane. She was too exhausted to cry any more. She seemed to have only enough strength to say, brokenly, "Oh, Mother, Mother!" and then from sheer weariness of flesh she fell into a troubled sleep.
Meantime Marjorie was missed at home. The Sand Club grew tired of waiting for her, and King went up to the house to investigate the delay.
He trudged, whistling, up the driveway, and seeing Mrs. Corey, he whipped off his cap, and greeted her politely.
"Where's Midget, Mother?" he asked.