She said her good-byes, and flew across the street to her own home.
She flung to the front door behind her, with what was almost a bang, and then throwing her coat and hat on the hall rack, she burst into the living-room, where Mrs. Maynard was sitting with Rosy Posy in her lap.
"Marjorie," her mother said, as she observed the impulsive child, "you are just a shade too noisy. Will you kindly go back to the hall, and try to enter this room in a manner more becoming to a lady and a Maynard?"
"I will, indeed, Mother. And you're quite right; I was awful racketty."
Marjorie returned to the hall, and then came in with graceful, mincing steps, purposely overdoing the scene. She paused in front of her mother dropped an elaborate curtsey, and holding out her hand daintily, said:
"Good-evening, Mrs. Maynard; are you at home?"
"I am, you silly child," said her mother, kissing her affectionately, "and overdone manners are much better than no manners at all."
"Yes'm; and what do you think, Mother? I've been over to see Delight
Spencer."
"You have? Why, I meant to take you when I go to call. How did you happen to go?"
So Marjorie told the story of the telephoning, adding: "And you know, Mother, you always used to let me go to Gladys's without asking you, so I went. Wasn't it all right?"