"I—I must go home," she whispered, making for the door.
"No, you mustn't! Your mother said you were to wait until your father called for you. It's terribly early yet."
"But I must go," insisted the child, with her hand upon the knob.
"Mary!"
George's tone was suddenly masterful. "Are you mad at me?"
"No, oh, no," she replied, shaking her head vigorously.
"Well, something makes you seem very queer. If you're not mad, tell me why you're starting home!"
Mary looked at him steadily for a moment, then her brown eyes filled with tears, her chin began to quiver, and she sobbed out,—
"I can't play with you any more, George, because your mother said you were—a lord, and—awful rich!"