It was after dinner when Margaret was alone with Perkins and his mother that she crept close to the latter saying: “I think I shall have to go away.” Mrs. Perkins let fall her sewing and gazed at Margaret in blank astonishment. “My dear, you surely don't mean it!” she cried at last. Whatever traits Mrs. Perkins had inherited from her military ancestors, to Margaret she had been womanly and loving, and the friendless little wanderer had received from her more motherly care than she had ever before known. “I think,” she began again timidly, and her voice was perilously near to the point of breaking, “I think it is much better for me to go at once.” “But do you wish to go—that is—must you?” Mrs. Perkins insisted: “Dear! dear! I had never even thought of your leaving us, and yet it is scarcely probable you will be content to remain here always.” “I fear it is better for me to leave you, but I do not wish to go—it's not that—believe me it's not!” “Then, my dear, Ballard and I will never hear to it.” It was then Margaret broke down entirely, and not knowing what else to do sought refuge in Mrs. Perkins' arms and from that safe vantage told of her brother. “And he is coming back. I—I had hoped he would not, unkind and ungenerous as it may seem!” “Very well. He shall come here,” Mrs. Perkins said. “Oh, no! oh, no! you must know—I must tell you that his actions may be hard to explain. They are often reckless in the extreme. I can not make my burden yours. You would grow to hate me if I did.” “Indeed we shan't,” Perkins burst out. “I'll look after him when he comes. I can handle him. You have no idea how clever I am. You just turn him over to me—I'll manage him.” And he shook his head knowingly, while under his breath he whispered: “If he cuts up and annoys her I'll punch his damned nose!”—which was very violent language for him. “I so regret—” Margaret began again, but Mrs. Perkins would hear no more. “There, my dear, we understand perfectly, so don't distress yourself at all about it. You are going to remain here, whatever happens.” “Of course you are!” Perkins chimed in. “We want you to feel that this is your home and that you are to stay here as long as ever you wish to. The idea!—the very idea—” “You are so good,” Madame Dennie murmured gratefully. “So kind! It is beautiful to be so loved.” “It is more beautiful to have you with us, you know,” Perkins remarked, “and to be permitted to love you.” “If I remain you must grant me one favor in advance.” And she looked at Perkins, seeing in him a victim for the wily Geoff. “A million if you like,” he answered rashly. “You are not to lend my brother money. You must promise me this.” “I shall be guided wholly by you,” Perkins assured her. This ended all mention of Geoff, but late in the night when they had all retired, Mrs. Perkins was aroused by Russell rapping on her door and entreating her to come at once to Madame Dennie; who was very ill.