She would not stay with him. She would go away—she would go away with Feathers, if he would take her.
She longed for him as a homesick child longs for its father. He would be kind to her, he would understand.
Dorothy came tapping at the door. She held an open telegram in her hand.
246 "Marie, I've got to go home." She gave her the message to read without another word.
Marie took it mechanically, but the words danced meaninglessly before her eyes:
"Ronnie died this morning. Come at once."
Ronnie was Dorothy's brother, she knew. She looked at the girl's white face and quivering lips, but she felt no pity for her.
"I'm sorry—so sorry," she said, but the words were meaningless.
She went with Dorothy to her room and helped her pack. She telephoned for the car and told Miss Chester.
"Someone must go with her; she ought not to travel alone," the old lady said, in distress. "Surely Chris will go. It is only kind."