Pennington was distraught.

Meanwhile, wherever her heart might be, Margaret Elizabeth herself
was out. Uncle Bob, coming in, paper in hand, to greet the visitor
cordially, could not imagine where she had gone, and peered around the
room as if after all she might have escaped their notice. If she wasn't
in, he was confident she would be, in the course of a few minutes, which
confidence was not a logical deduction from known facts, but merely an
untrustworthy inference, born of his surprise at finding her out at all.

Placing a chair for Mrs. Pennington, he took one himself and regarded
her genially. Some minutes of polite conversation followed, in the
course of which Mrs. Pennington, concealing her agitation, spoke of her
journey to Chicago in quest of colonial furnishings. Mr. Vandegrift in
his turn brought forward Florida and orange groves.

But Margaret Elizabeth delayed her coming, and Mrs. Pennington could
stand it no longer. "Mr. Vandegrift," she began, after the silence that
followed the last word on oranges, "I regret that my niece is not here,
yet it may be as well to speak to you first. I may say, to make an
appeal to you. You are, I am sure, fond of Margaret Elizabeth." She
played nervously with the fastening of her shopping bag.

Uncle Bob looked at her in surprise, then at the toe of his shoe. "I
think I may safely admit it," he owned, crossing his knees and nodding
his head.

"Then, Mr. Vandegrift, I beseech you, with all the feeling of which I am
capable, to unite with me in saving this misguided girl." At this point
all her intuitions and fears rallied around Mrs. Pennington, and gave a