In fact, she looked the picture of utter despair and dejection. Her head
hung down, her steps were slow, and yet she seemed filled with a riot of
indignation.

Her face was flushed and her eyes red, and though not exactly crying,
great shivering sobs now and then shook her whole body.

Once inside her own home grounds, she quickened her pace a little, and
almost ran up the verandah steps and in at the door.

She slammed it behind her, and though, I am sorry to say, this was not an
unusual proceeding for Midget, yet she was truly trying to break herself
of the habit.

But this time she gave the door a hard, angry slam, and flinging her
wraps anywhere, as she went along, she brushed hastily through the
various rooms in search of her mother.

But Mrs. Maynard and Kitty had gone out driving, and King wasn't at home,
either, so poor Marjorie, her eyes now blinded with surging tears,
stumbled on to her own room, and threw herself, sobbing, on her little
white bed.

She buried her face in the pillow and gave way to such tumultuous grief
that the brass bedstead fairly shook in sympathy.

"I can't bear it!" she murmured, half aloud; "I _can't_ bear it! It's a
wicked shame! I don't Want to live any more! Oh, I _wish_ Mother would
come home!"