"Margaret's here somewhere." Mrs. Spencer clung to Letty's hand. "Buying you magazines, I think. Where is Charles?"
"Here's the King." Margaret came up with him. "Hello, Mr. Bill."
"The guard will have to let me through the gate," announced Charles severely, "to settle these bags for you."
"Oh, Cathy!" Margaret whisked to Catherine's side. "We're coming up to see you in Maine, Amy and I. In our own car! Want us?"
"I shall probably stop in Buxton on my way back from George's," said Mrs. Spencer, as she pushed Letty and Marian toward the gate. "I wish you weren't going so far"—she sighed—"but as I've said, I think it's just the place for you all."
Charles was impressing the guard, successfully, so that he did step through, Spencer beside him tugging at a handbag. A flurry of good-bys, and Catherine, with Letty and Marian clinging to her hands, followed him upon the platform. She turned for a last glimpse. Margaret, her bright hair flying, was waving at them; Mrs. Spencer dabbed softly at her cheeks with her handkerchief; Bill—no, Bill had turned away. There, he was waving, too. Marian waggled her handkerchief. Charles called behind her, "Come along, Cathy, your coach is halfway down the track."