How Marjorie's eyes brightened! She had found her ideal; she would give herself no rest until she had become like Helen Rheid. But Helen Rheid had everything to push her on, every one to help her. For the first time in her life Marjorie was disheartened. But, with a reassuring conviction, flashed the thought—there were years before she would be seventeen.
"Wouldn't you like to see her, Mousie?"
"Indeed, I would," said Marjorie, enthusiastically.
"I brought her photograph to mother—how she looked at me when 'marm' slipped out one day. The boys always used to say 'Marm,'" he said laughing.
Marjorie remembered that she had been taught to say "grandmarm," but as she grew older she had softened it to "grandma."
"I'll bring you her photograph when I come to-morrow to say good-bye.
Now, tell me what you've been looking sad about."
Is it possible that she was forgetting?
"Oh, perhaps you can help me!"
"Help you! Of course I will."
"How did you know I was troubled?" she asked seriously, looking up into his eyes.