"Oh, always?" demanded Marjorie. "You know, Francis, I always wanted good times worse than anything in the world, but that isn't saying I had them. I didn't. Won't I ever have any more? That few weeks when I raced around with you and Billy and Lucille was really the first time I'd been free and had fun with people I liked, ever since I'd been born. And—and I suppose it went to my head a little bit."
She looked up at him like a child who has been naughty and is sorry, and he looked over at her, his face going tense, as it did when he felt things.
"I don't think we were exactly free agents," he said musingly. "Something was pushing us. I'm not sorry . . . except that it was hardly fair to you——"
She leaned toward him impulsively, holding out her hand. He bent toward her, flushing. They were nearer than they had been since that day when his summons to war came. And then Fate—as Mr. Logan might have said—knocked at the door.
CHAPTER IX
The two on the balcony moved a little away from each other. Then Marjorie, coloring for no reason whatsoever, stepped down the toy stairs that wound like a doll's-house staircase, and went to the door.
It was Peggy O'Mara, no more and no less, but what a Peggy! She looked like an avenging goddess. But it was not at Marjorie that her vengeance was directed, it was plainly to be seen, for she swept the smaller girl to her bosom with one strong and emotional arm, and said, "You poor abused little lamb! I've come to tell you that I know all about it!"
Marjorie jerked herself away in surprise. For one thing, she had been very much interested in the conversation she had been carrying on with Francis, and had entirely forgotten that she might ever have had any claim to feel abused. For another thing, Peggy knew more than she should, if Logan had kept his promise.
"Won't—won't you come in?" she asked inadequately. "And please tell me what you mean."
"Mean! I mean I know all about it!" said Peggy, who was sixteen only, in spite of her goddess-build, and romantic.