Marjorie looked so disturbed that Mrs. Maynard smiled, and said:
"Why, I suppose there's no harm done,—since the little girl asked you to come—"
Marjorie looked greatly relieved. "Well," she said, "Mrs. Spencer thought it was awful for me to go without asking you,—and then,—she wanted me to stay after five o'clock, and was madder 'n hops 'cause I didn't!"
"What a remarkable lady! But I can judge better if you tell me the whole story."
So Marjorie told all about the afternoon, and Mrs. Maynard was greatly interested.
"Not exactly stuck-up, is she, Midget?" said King, who had come in during the recital.
"No," owned up Marjorie. "I was mistaken about that; and I think I'd like her a lot, if she wasn't the crying kind. I do hate cry babies."
"Ho! You wept oceans when Glad went away."
"Yes," retorted Marjorie, unabashed, "but that's very different. I don't burst into weeps just because a next-door neighbor is going home!"
"'Deed you don't, old girl! You're a brick, and I was a meany to say what
I did. But perhaps Delight doesn't cry so much when she's well."