"Come in," said Cecilia. Marjory opened the door and came across the room to sit on the edge of Cecilia's bed.
"I'm sorry you haven't slept," said Cecilia.
"That doesn't matter," answered Marjory. Cecilia saw that she was very tired, so tired that she looked old. She was the Marjory of gay evening, with a grey veil shrouding her.
"I'm going away," said Marjory abruptly. Her fingers played with the coverlet and her eyes avoided Cecilia's. "I'm going back to mamma," she continued. "I think she needs me, and—and I hate the States!"
"Marjory, dear!" said Cecilia, "I'm sorry—so sorry."
"No one wants me," said the new Marjory. "I only make trouble wherever I go. No one wants me——"
"I always want you," said Cecilia. "I do, Marjory,—I really do."
"I believe you really mean that," said Marjory slowly. "I'm almost too little to understand you, but I know you never lie."
"I lied about the necklace," said Cecilia; "I don't think it beautiful, except for the love it shows."
"Cecilia," said Marjory, "I can't be truthful. I can't, Cecilia——"