She was almost cheerful again, when at last the dallying guests
appeared for a late breakfast. Mark was still working at the car,
filing something with long steady grinding noises. She had seen him
twice from the window, but she did not venture out. Mark had not wished
her to speak to him, she would not go against his wish,--at least not
now--not until the guests were out of the way. That awful girl should
have no further opportunity to say things to her about Mark. She would
keep out of his way until they were gone. Oh, pray that the car would
be fixed and they pass on their way at once! Later, if there were
opportunity, she would find a way to tell Mark that he should not
refuse her friendship. What was friendship if it could not stand the
strain of falsehood and gossip, and even scandal if necessary. She was
not ashamed to let Mark know she would be his friend forever. There was
nothing unmaidenly in that. Mark would understand her. Mark had always
understood her. And so she cheered her heavy heart through the
breakfast hour, and the foolish jesting of the two that sounded to her
anxious ears, in the language of scripture, like the "crackling of
thorns under a pot."

But at last they finished the breakfast and shoved their chairs back to
go and look at the car. Mr. Severn and his wife had eaten long ago and
gone about their early morning duties, and it had been Marilyn's duty
to do the honors for the guests, so she drew a sigh of relief, and,
evading Laurie's proffered arm slid into the pantry and let them go
alone.