Margery's conscience had now the upper hand of her. All her acting was cast to the winds. "It was wrong to take it," she wept. "I can see that now, Mr. Mallow, but I did not think. Father said that all property should be shared in common, so I thought I would share with Mr. Brock; he has very nice property," she added, naïvely.
"Was this wrist-button put away carefully?"
"No-o-o. It was lying loose in a drawer; I didn't think it was of much value. I am very, very wicked."
Mallow drew the child towards him and consoled her. "Don't cry, Margery," he said, wiping her eyes with his handkerchief. "A fault confessed is half-redressed. Did you tell Mr. Brock that you were sorry?"
"Yes; I told him that I was converted, and that I repented of my wickedness. He said it did not matter; that I was not to trouble about what I had done."
"Then don't trouble, dear. There, there, it's all right. So you have given up the Anarchism?"
"I am a Christian now. I believe in----"
Before Margery could state her religious beliefs, Olive, looking rather anxious, came into the room. "Laurence, would you mind calling on Mr. Brock alone? Mrs. Drabble is not well enough to be left at present."
"Oh, is mother ill?" cried Margery, scared.
"She is not very well, dear. Put on your stockings and shoes, child; you will take cold. Laurence!"