She had even to shake hands, to appear as if nothing had happened, and to part apparently good friends.
"Half-past six sharp, Marguerite.

I will never forgive you if you don't come," Aldith said, as they parted at her gate.
"I--you--Oh, Aldith, I don't see how I can come," Meg faltered, the crimson in her cheeks again.

"I've never done anything like it before.

I'm sure it's not right." But the curl, in Aldith's lip made her ashamed of herself.
"You're just twelve, Marguerite;" the young lady said calmly: "you're not a bit more than twelve.

You'd better get a roll again, and a picture-book with morals.