"Poor old soul!" Miss Holcroft exclaimed sympathetically.
When Marigold wrote to her mother, which she did in the course of a few days, she found she had many topics to write about. Many new acquaintances had come into her life, many new interests occupied her thoughts. Hitherto, in her London home her life had been of necessity a somewhat narrow one, because her mother had always been much occupied, and had no time for making new friends; but, now, Marigold found herself in a very different position. She had a comfortable home, ample pocket-money, and everything that wealth could give; but, oh! how she longed sometimes for the sight of her mother's face, the touch of the loving arms, the sound of the gentle voice.
Then, too, how happy she would have been, if her mother and brothers could have shared the good things she was learning to take as a matter of course—the spacious house with its comfortable belongings, the well-trained servants, the plentiful food, all of which had seemed to her at first to be great luxuries.
The little girl had on her arrival been prejudiced against her aunts on account of their having ignored her mother, but Miss Holcroft had won her love at once; and she was beginning to discover that there was much to admire and respect in Miss Pamela's sterner character. But, in spite of the kindness of both her aunts, in spite of her comfortable surroundings and freedom from the petty cares that she had shared with her family in her London home, Marigold never ceased to long for the day, years hence though she knew it would probably be, when she would return to her mother, never, as she trusted, to be parted again.
[CHAPTER X]
THE RECONCILIATION BETWEEN MARIGOLD AND
MURIEL WAKE
IT was a hot July day. Afternoon school was over at last, and Miss Hardcastle's girls trooped out into the sunshine, glad to be in the open air, for the weather was terribly oppressive, and the schoolrooms, though well ventilated, had been almost unbearably close. Marigold was nearly half-way home when a sudden doubt assailed her mind, and she made a hasty search in her schoolbag, only to find that she had left behind her a book she particularly wanted. She must return to fetch it, or she would not be able to prepare one of her most important lessons for the following day; so she hastily retraced her footsteps, and entered the class-room with flushed cheeks and panting breath. After taking the forgotten book from her desk, she sat down, meaning to rest a few minutes before starting for home again; and then she noticed that she was not alone, as she had imagined.
Seated at a table by one of the open windows was Muriel Wake, her elbows resting on the blank sheet of paper in front of her, and her head in her hands. She did not glance at Marigold, who regarded her with astonishment, for there was an air of utter dejection about the little figure that surprised her greatly. Muriel was usually full of life and high spirits.
Having rested until she had become somewhat cooler, and had regained her breath, Marigold picked up her bag of books, and was about to leave the room when a slight sound, half sigh, half sob, from Muriel arrested her attention, and she paused irresolutely. Although Muriel had treated her in such an unfriendly fashion, Marigold could not bear to see her in trouble without trying to console her, and after a moment's hesitation she crossed to her side, and touched her lightly on the shoulder.