Occasionally, she turned and smiled at him, but she said little, and he
knew she was being brave and trying not to think too much about her loss.

Gladys had gone away early and when they had passed the closed and
deserted-looking Fulton house, Marjorie had swallowed hard and looked the
other way.

But once in New York, the child had no time to think of anything but the
present hour, so full of joy was the whole day.

"My time is yours," announced Mr. Maynard, as they reached the city.
"I've telephoned to the office that I won't be there at all today, so
what shall we do?"

"Oh, Father, a whole Ourday, all for you and me?" Marjorie's eyes danced
at this unheard of experience.

"Yes, Midget; partly because I'm sorry for my troubled little girl, and
partly because you _are_ bearing your trouble bravely and cheerfully."

"Who wouldn't be cheerful, with a whole Ourday, and a whole father, all
to myself!"

"Well, you'll probably never have another, alone with me. So make the
most of it. Where shall we go first?"

"Oh, I don't know; it's all so lovely."

"Then I'll choose. Step this way, Madame."