For a moment the girl was silent; then she turned swiftly and faced him.
“Frank, Bobby McGinnis was my good friend. From the time when I was a tiny little girl he has been that. He is good and true and noble, but I have brought him nothing but sorrow. He will be happier now if I am quite out of his sight at present. I am going away.”
Frank Spencer stirred uneasily.
“But you will be away—from him—if you are here,” he suggested.
“Oh, but if I’m here I shall be there,” contested Margaret with a haste that refused to consider logic; then, as she saw the whimsical smile come into the man’s eyes, she added brokenly: “Besides, I want to get away—quite away from my work.”
Spencer grew sober instantly. The whimsical look in his eyes gave place to one of tender sympathy.
“You poor child, of course you do, and no wonder! You are worn out with the strain, Margaret.”
She raised a protesting hand.
“No, no, you do not understand. I—I have made a failure of it.”
“A failure of it!”