It was then Margaret broke down entirely, and not knowing what else to do sought refuge in Mrs. Perkins' arms and from that safe vantage told of her brother.
“And he is coming back. I—I had hoped he would not, unkind and ungenerous as it may seem!”
“Very well. He shall come here,” Mrs. Perkins said.
“Oh, no! oh, no! you must know—I must tell you that his actions may be hard to explain. They are often reckless in the extreme. I can not make my burden yours. You would grow to hate me if I did.”
“Indeed we shan't,” Perkins burst out. “I'll look after him when he comes. I can handle him. You have no idea how clever I am. You just turn him over to me—I'll manage him.” And he shook his head knowingly, while under his breath he whispered: “If he cuts up and annoys her I'll punch his damned nose!”—which was very violent language for him.
“I so regret—” Margaret began again, but Mrs. Perkins would hear no more.
“There, my dear, we understand perfectly, so don't distress yourself at all about it. You are going to remain here, whatever happens.”
“Of course you are!” Perkins chimed in. “We want you to feel that this is your home and that you are to stay here as long as ever you wish to. The idea!—the very idea—”
“You are so good,” Madame Dennie murmured gratefully. “So kind! It is beautiful to be so loved.”
“It is more beautiful to have you with us, you know,” Perkins remarked, “and to be permitted to love you.”