For one minute Marjory gazed at her in admiration, and then, conscious of her tear-stained face and tumbled dress, let her head droop again and sobbed afresh.
The lady spoke again: "My dear child, what is wrong?"
"Nothing," sobbed Marjory--"nothing that I can tell you."
She felt ashamed of being seen in such a plight, and had an instinctive dislike of showing her feelings to a stranger, for Marjory was an extremely shy girl.
"But, my dear," remonstrated the lady, "I cannot leave you like this; besides," with a smile most winning, if only Marjory could have seen it, "I believe you are trespassing upon our newly-acquired property."
Marjory raised her head at this, and said quickly, and perhaps just a little proudly,--
"Oh no, I'm not; this is my uncle's ground."
"Oh dear; then Blanche and I are the trespassers, though quite innocent ones. And you must be Marjory Davidson, I think--Dr. Hunter's niece; and if so, I know a great deal about you, and we are going to be friends, and you must let me begin by helping you now."
So saying, the lady seated herself on the ground beside Marjory, her daughter looking on, at the same time stroking and patting Silky, who seemed much more disposed to be friendly than his mistress.
"Can't you tell me what the trouble is, Marjory? I am Mrs. Forester, and this is my daughter Blanche. We have just come to live at Braeside. Your uncle called on us to-day, and told us about you. Blanche and I have been looking forward to seeing you and making friends.--Haven't we, Blanche?"
"Yes, I've thought of nothing else since I heard about you," said the girl, rather shyly, the colour coming into her face as she spoke.
Marjory stole another glance at her, and she thought she had never seen or imagined any one so sweet and pretty as this girl.
"Blanche," she thought--"that means white; I know it from the names of roses and hyacinths. I've seen it on the labels. And she is just like her name--like a beautiful white rose with the tiniest bit of pink in it."
"Come now, Marjory dear," coaxed Mrs. Forester; "won't you take us for friends, and tell me a little about this trouble of yours? Won't you let me try to help you out of it?"
"No, you can't help me; nobody can. It's very kind of you," stammered Marjory, "but it's no use."
