Not until after Margaret had gone to bed that night did Mrs. Kendall answer the questions that had trembled all the evening on the doctor’s lips; then she told him the story of those nine days in New York, beginning with Margaret’s visit to the Alley, and her overwhelming “reception” in the Whalens’ basement home.
“I’m afraid the whole thing has been a mistake,” she said despondently, when she had finished. “Instead of making Margaret happy, it has made her miserable.”
“But I don’t see,” protested the doctor. “As near as I can make out you did just what she wanted; you—er—‘divvied up.’”
Mrs. Kendall sighed.
“Why, of course, to a certain extent: but even Margaret, child though she is, saw the hopelessness of the task when once we set about it. There were so many, so pitifully many. Her few weeks of luxurious living here at home have opened her eyes to the difference between her life and theirs, and I thought the child would cry herself sick over it all.”
“But you helped them—some of them?”
Again Mrs. Kendall sighed.
“Yes, oh, yes, we helped them. I think if Margaret could have had her way we should have marched through the streets to the tune of ‘See the conquering hero comes,’ distributing new dresses and frosted cakes with unstinted hands; but I finally convinced her that such assistance was perhaps not the wisest way of going about what we wanted to do. At last I had to keep her away from the Alley altogether, it affected her so. I got her interested in looking up a new home for the Whalens, and so filled her mind with that.”
“Oh, then the Whalens have a new home? Well, I’m sure Margaret must have liked that.”