"Oh, no, thank you; I have to go to school."
"Yes, I suppose you do. Well, come to-morrow afternoon."
"Yes, do," said Delight, staying her tears, as they seemed to do no good.
"I'll see about it," said Midget, a little bewildered by these emotional people. "I'd like to come."
She said her good-byes, and flew across the street to her own home.
She flung to the front door behind her, with what was _almost_ a bang, and then throwing her coat and hat on the hall rack, she burst into the living-room, where Mrs. Maynard was sitting with Rosy Posy in her lap.
"Marjorie," her mother said, as she observed the impulsive child, "you are just a shade too noisy. Will you kindly go back to the hall, and try to enter this room in a manner more becoming to a lady and a Maynard?"
"I will, indeed, Mother. And you're quite right; I was awful racketty."
Marjorie returned to the hall, and then came in with graceful, mincing steps, purposely overdoing the scene. She paused in front of her mother dropped an elaborate curtsey, and holding out her hand daintily, said:
"Good-evening, Mrs. Maynard; are you at home?"
"I am, you silly child," said her mother, kissing her affectionately, "and overdone manners are much better than no manners at all."
"Yes'm; and what do you think, Mother? I've been over to see Delight Spencer."
"You have? Why, I meant to take you when I go to call. How did you happen to go?"
So Marjorie told the story of the telephoning, adding: "And you know, Mother, you always used to let me go to Gladys's without asking you, so I went. Wasn't it all right?"
Marjorie looked so disturbed that Mrs. Maynard smiled, and said:
"Why, I suppose there's no harm done,--since the little girl asked you to come--"
Marjorie looked greatly relieved. "Well," she said, "Mrs. Spencer thought it was awful for me to go without asking you,--and then,--she wanted me to stay after five o'clock, and was madder 'n hops 'cause I didn't!"
"What a remarkable lady! But I can judge better if you tell me the whole story."
So Marjorie told all about the afternoon, and Mrs. Maynard was greatly interested.
"Not exactly stuck-up, is she, Midget?" said King, who had come in during the recital.
"No," owned up Marjorie. "I was mistaken about that; and I think I'd like her a lot, if she wasn't the crying kind. I do hate cry babies."