But no sooner had she reached the door than Shirley Bloodgood followed on her heels.
"It's I, Miriam," she began; "and how are you, dear?" And without further ceremony she pulled off her gloves, tossed off her hat and planted herself in a chair.
"I just simply couldn't stay away from you any longer," she declared. "I know you don't want me here, but I can't leave you."
Miriam Challoner sank weakly at a table and covered her face with her hands. Alone with the servants, she had borne up, but in the presence of the strong, sympathetic girl, Mrs. Challoner's courage vanished. Finally she leaned toward her visitor, and asked, a world of pathos in the question:—
"Is—is there any news outside?"
Shirley glanced at the fire sputtering in the grate; she hesitated imperceptibly, then she answered:—
"None—I—I haven't seen the papers—no, there's nothing new."
Mrs. Challoner rose, staggered across the room to the girl and threw her arms about her.
"Shirley, Shirley, I'd have gone mad, I think, if you hadn't come!" she cried, and fell to sobbing; but after a moment she straightened up again. There was a defiant look in her face now, a tremor in the voice that said: "I don't care what he's done—I want Laurie to come back, do you understand? I want him back—I want him...."
Shirley Bloodgood bit her lips.