“If you are not too busy,” called a voice that sent a quick throb of joy to the young man’s pulse, “the other half of the committee would like to begin work. May she come down to the mills this afternoon at three o’clock?”
“By all means!” cried McGinnis. “Come.” He tried to say more, but while he was searching for just the right words, the voice murmured, “Thank you”; and then came the click of the receiver against the hook at the other end of the line.
The clock had not struck three that afternoon when Margaret was ushered into the inner office of Spencer & Spencer. Only Frank was there, for which Margaret was thankful. She avoided Ned these days when she could. There was still that haunting reproach in his eyes whenever they met hers.
Frank was expecting her, and only a peculiar tightening of his lips betrayed his disquietude as he turned to his desk and pressed the button that would summon McGinnis to the office.
“Miss Kendall would like to go over one of the mills,” he said quietly, as the young man entered, in response to his ring. “Perhaps you will be her escort.”
Margaret gave her guardian a grateful look as she left the office. She thought she knew just how much the calm acceptance of the situation had cost him, and she appreciated his unflinching determination to give her actions the sanction of his apparent consent. It was for this that she gave him the grateful glance—but he did not see it. His head was turned away.
“And what shall I show you?” asked McGinnis, as the office door closed behind them.
“Everything you can,” returned Margaret; “everything! But particularly the children.”
From the first deafening click-clack of the rattling machines she drew back in consternation.
“They don’t work there—the children!” she cried.