“Yes, Aunt Helen; and a very good thing too. I just happened to mention that Leslie had called, and Marjorie said at once she must see her, that no one in all the world could do her so much good. Go up to her, Leslie; don’t waste time talking.”
“May I?” said Leslie, looking anxiously at Mrs. Chetwynd.
“Oh, certainly, dear, if she wishes it; but I must own——”
“Come, come, Leslie, there is not a minute to lose,” said Lettie.
They flew upstairs together, and a moment later had entered Marjorie’s room.
Marjorie had flung herself face downwards on the bed. She was wearing an untidy serge skirt, and a loose, ill-fitting washing blouse. Her tangled short hair was waved like a mop over her head. She did not look up when she heard the two girls enter the room; and when Leslie’s soft voice said, “I am very sorry for you, Marjorie.” her only reply was to clutch the pillow, round which she had clasped her arms, more convulsively than ever, and to say in a choking voice, “I wish Lettie would go away. I know she is in the room too. I want to be alone with you, Leslie.”
Lettie raised her brows, made a pantomimic sign to Leslie to show how badly she was appreciated, and stole on tiptoe out of the room.
“Has she gone?” asked Marjorie, still keeping her face hidden.
“Yes.”
“Well, shut the door, won’t you?”