Gretel hurried away wondering. It seemed very strange that any one could talk about going to fairy-land as Ada did, but then she was only eleven, and there were a great many things in the world that she did not understand. As she was crossing the narrow hall of the apartment to Mrs. Marsh’s room, Dora, the maid-of-all-work, opened the front door, and a young man in a dress-suit stepped in, and greeted the little girl good-naturedly.
“Good evening, little Miss Gretchen,” he said, with a smile. “Are your cousins ready? Your name is Gretchen, isn’t it?”
“My name is Margareta Schiller,” said Gretel, drawing herself up with the little air of dignity that always amused grown-up people. “They call me Gretel, not Gretchen. Ada’s nearly ready, and I’m going to see if I can help Mrs. Marsh with the hooks; but they’re not my cousins.”
“Not your cousins, eh? Why, I thought—” But Mr. Pendleton did not say what he thought, for at that moment Mrs. Marsh’s door opened, and that lady appeared, carrying her evening wrap over her arm.
“Ah, Mr. Pendleton, just in time,” she said, smiling, and speaking in what Gretel always called “her company voice.” “Gretel, darling, run and tell Ada, Mr. Pendleton is here. We must not lose a moment; it would be too sad to miss that beautiful overture.”
As Gretel turned away to do as she was told, Mr. Pendleton followed her rather curiously with his eyes.
“What a pretty child,” he remarked in a low voice to Mrs. Marsh. “I supposed she was a relative of yours, but she says she is not.”
“No, she is not a relative, but it was a most natural mistake for any one to make. It is rather complicated to explain. My dear husband was a cousin of Gretel’s mother’s first husband. She is an orphan, poor little girl, and her only relative—a half-brother—has been living in Hong-Kong for several years. I give her a home, and Ada and I do all in our power to make her happy, but in our straitened circumstances it is scarcely possible for us to be as generous as we should like.”
Mrs. Marsh sighed, and Mr. Pendleton looked sympathetic, and murmured something about being sure the little girl had a very happy home, but just then Gretel reappeared, followed by Ada, who was still struggling with the last button of her glove.
“Good night, Gretel dear,” said Mrs. Marsh, sweetly, as she stepped into the elevator. “Don’t sit up too long reading fairy stories, but go to bed early, like a good girl.”