“Where did she go when she went with your step-ma and you?” demanded Gladys, who seemed to have suddenly developed unusual acumen. Her face was streaming with tears but her voice was keen.
“She went to Her cousin's, who lives in an apartment in West Forty-ninth Street,” said Maria.
“She'd try to go there again,” said Gladys. “Did she know the woman's name?”
“Yes, she did.”
“You bet she did. She was an awful bright kid,” said Gladys. “Now, I tell you what, Maria, I shouldn't a mite wonder if your step-ma had had a telegram from her cousin by this time, that she was to her house. You'd better jest run home an' see.”
“She was only her third cousin,” said Maria, “and She hardly ever heard from her. It was only the other day I heard Her say that she didn't know but she had left New York. I don't think Her cousin liked her very well.”
“What was the cousin's name?”
“She called her Alice, but her name was Mrs. George B. Edison.”
“That's jest where the kid has went,” said Gladys. “You go right home, M'ria. We'll go with you, and I'll bet a cooky you'll find that your step-ma has had a telegram.”
Maria hesitated a moment; then she started, Wollaston Lee still keeping close hold of her arm. Gladys was on the other side.