Where could she go?
Not to Cousin Ethel's, she'd only bring her back home.

_Home!_ She hadn't any home,--no _real_ home! She thought of Grandma Sherwood's, but she wasn't her grandma at all! Then she thought of Grandma Maynard.

That was a curious thought, for though Grandma Maynard wasn't her own grandmother, either, yet, a few months ago, she had begged Marjorie to live with her and be her little girl.
Surely she must have _known_ that Midget wasn't really her granddaughter, and yet she had really loved her enough to want her to live there.
Then Grandma Maynard wouldn't have to _pretend_ to love her.
Clearly, that was the only thing to do.

She couldn't run away, with no destination in view.
She had no claim on Grandma Sherwood or Uncle Steve, but Grandma Maynard _had_ wanted her,--really _wanted_ her.
Marjorie looked at the little clock on her dressing table.

It was almost three o'clock.