Connie's hand was on the door-knob, but she turned with a sudden sinking of the heart, and a swift impulse that sent her across the room to Margaret's side.
"Margaret, you gave Owen that money before he gave it to you. Where did you get it?"
Margaret left off beating the pillows and slipped upon her knees to bury her face in one of them.
"I knew you'd be asking that," she sobbed, and then: "Haven't I been working honest every day since Christmas? And does it be taking all I earn to keep me, I'd like to know?"
Constance went down on her knees beside the girl, and what she said was to One who was merciful even to the Magdalenes. When she rose the pain of it was a little dulled, and she went back to the charitable necessities in a word.
"Is there any one to watch with her to-night, Margaret?"
The girl lifted a tear-stained face, and the passionate Irish eyes were swimming, and Constance turned away because her loving compassion was greater than her determination to be judicially severe.
"I'm one," Margaret answered; "and Mrs. Mulcahey'll come over when her man gets home."
"Very well. I'll go over and give the children their suppers and put them to bed. I'll stay till you come, and you can bring Tommie to take me home."