"I do not know what people would say. But I cannot go home, and I have not been able to get a lodging," said Marion piteously. She liked the kindly voice and face of the widow, and she resolved to confide in her.
"And where are you to sleep to-night, my dear?" asked the widow, in mingled horror and amazement.
"I do not know. I wish you could help me; and I am very thirsty, I can hardly speak."
Mrs. Carpenter stretched out her hand and took Marion's, and said:
"Come with me. I will get you something to drink, and put you right for the night. I shall miss the train I intended taking; but never mind that, there is another later."
She took the girl into the refreshment-room and got her a cup of tea. Marion could eat nothing, but she drank the tea with a great sense of relief. While she was drinking the tea, she told the widow as much of her story as she would tell anyone--how, for reasons unconnected with the fault of anyone, she had been compelled to leave home unexpectedly and suddenly, and how she had wandered about, looking in vain for lodgings.
"And," said Mrs. Carpenter, "what is your name?"
Marion felt it hard to refuse to tell one who had been so kind to her, and yet she had made up her mind to tell no one.
"If you would not think it very ungrateful of me, I would rather not tell you," she said in a voice of pain.
"Oh, my dear, I am not in the least curious, not in the least. I had no object in asking you what it was. I only wanted to know what I am to call you."