“A mill girl? Then it must be Mrs. Merideth or Mr. Spencer that she wants to see.”
“She said you, Miss. She said she wanted to see——” Betty stopped, looking a little frightened.
“That—that she wanted to see Miss Maggie Kendall,” blurted out the horrified Betty. “‘Mag of the Alley.’”
Miss Kendall sprang to her feet.
“Bring the girl here, Betty,” she directed quickly. “I will see her at once.”
Just what and whom she expected to see, Margaret could not have told. For the first surprised instant it seemed that some dimly remembered Patty or Clarabella or Arabella from the past must be waiting out there at the door; the next moment she knew that this was impossible, for time, even in the Alley, could not have stood still, and Patty and the twins must be women-grown now.
Out at the side door the “impertinent young person” received Betty’s order to “come in” with an airy toss of her head, and a jeering “There, what’d I tell ye?” but once in the subdued luxury of soft rugs and silken hangings, and face to face with a beauteous vision in a trailing pale blue gown, she became at once only a very much frightened little girl about eleven years old.
At a sign from Miss Kendall, Betty withdrew and left the two alone.
“What is your name, little girl?” asked Miss Kendall gently.