“Mamma dear,” I said, “I have thought of something;” and I went on rapidly to tell her what had come into my mind. She listened eagerly, but her face flushed and she looked half-frightened.
“We must wait till papa comes home and see what he says,” she replied.
I clasped my hands in entreaty.
“No, mamma,” I said. “I have a feeling that we mustn’t wait. There can’t be any harm in it. It is my duty to apologise. I could write her a letter, but that would not be the same good. I will not go to her to say ‘I’m not Mary’; I will just say I am the little girl that was so rude to her.”
Mamma considered.
“But if she refuses to see us,” she said. I saw she was yielding.
“Oh well, then—I don’t know. But any way I will have tried. Do you know her address, mamma?”
“I know the square she lives in, and the name is not common. We can easily find the number in any address-book when we get there. But, Connie—”
I stopped any further misgivings by kissing her. And seeing me look so much happier, mamma had not the heart to say anything more against it.