"What is it, Marjorie?" said her governess. "Have you anything to say to me? I am busy. Why don't you go out with your brothers?"
"I wanted to give you a kiss," said Marjorie, "and to tell you—to tell you—that if the other little girl loved you, so do I. I thought I'd tell you; I know it won't be a real comfort, but I thought perhaps you ought to know."
"It is a real comfort, Marjorie," said Miss Nelson in a softened voice. "Give me that kiss, dear. Thank you, my love. You are a good child, Marjorie—a dear child. Now run away and play."
"You have a headache, I know," said Marjorie, "and see how the sun does stream in at this window. May I pull down the blinds? And will you lie on the sofa? Do, and I will bathe your head with eau de Cologne. I wish you would let me."
"No, dear, the others are waiting for you."
"Let them wait. Eric wants me to see his ferrets. I'd much rather stay with you."
Miss Nelson knew that Marjorie adored Eric, and that whatever pets of his happened to be in vogue had the strongest fascination for her. Nevertheless she did lie down on the sofa, and her little pupil's gentle hand felt all that was delightful and soothing as it touched her brow. When Marjorie stole out of the room, Miss Nelson had dropped asleep.
Eric was still waiting. He was amusing himself peeling an early autumn apple, eating it in a discontented sort of way, for he was not very hungry, and watching the windows for Marjorie to appear. He was delighted when he saw her, but he would not show his pleasure.
"Come on," he said, in a gruff voice. "I don't know why I waited for you. Half the evening is gone already. Do be quick, Mag; how you loiter!"
"I've an apple in my pocket for Shark," said Marjorie.