But Marjorie's mother did not repeat all the conversation; she did not
say that she had followed her visitor to the gate and after glancing
around to be sure that Marjorie was not near had lowered her voice and
said:
"But I do think it is a shame, Mis' Rheid, for your Hollis to treat my
Marjorie so! After writing to her four years to give her the slip like
this! And the girl takes on about it, I can see it by her looks, although
she's too proud to say a word."
"I'm sure I'm sorry," said Mrs. Rheid. "Hollis wouldn't do a mean thing."
"I don't know what you call this, then," Marjorie's mother had replied
spiritedly as she turned towards the house.
Mrs. Rheid pondered night and day before she wrote to Hollis what
Marjorie's mother had said; but he never answered that part of the
letter, and his mother never knew whether she had done harm or good. Poor
little Marjorie could have told her, with an indignation that she would
have been frightened at; but Marjorie never knew. I'm afraid she would
not have felt like kissing her mother good-night if she had known it.
Her father looked grave and anxious that night when her mother told him,
as in duty bound she was to tell him everything, how she was arranging
things for Marjorie's comfort.
"That was wrong, Sarah, that was wrong," he said.
"How wrong? I don't see how it was wrong?" she had answered sharply.
"Then I cannot explain to you, Marjorie isn't hurt any; I don't believe
she cares half as much as you do?"
"You don't know; you don't see her all the time.
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