LILY’S ENGAGEMENT.
So busy had the girls been with their basketball practice, and so
elated were they over their first victory, that they seemed to have no
time or inclination to plan a Christmas party. Marjorie, tired though
she was, had suggested a dance, but to her relief they had vetoed the
proposition.
So the night of the game had been the final event of the year for Troop
Two Hundred, as their group was now designated. Two two-pound boxes of
chocolates, tied with gay red and green ribbons, presented to Marjorie
and Lily by Queenie in the name of her patrol were the only reminders
of Christmas in the occasion.
Both officers were surprised and delighted with the gifts, and
exclaimed appreciatively. It was characteristic of Queenie that she had
to explain the truth of the matter.
“Clara works in a candy factory,” she said, “and she got ’em cheap, so
it didn’t set us back as much as you’d think.”
Marjorie laughed, really pleased by the girl’s frankness. It meant a
great deal to her to have the scouts want to give her something.
“Well, I thank you a thousand times,” she said; “and I hope you all
have a very merry Christmas. Don’t forget scout meeting—the first
Saturday night in January!”
“We’ll all be there!” Queenie promised.
She climbed into John’s car and literally dropped into her seat. She
thought she had never been so tired in her life before.
“Thank goodness that’s over!” she breathed at last. “And only three
more days of college!”
“Are you really so worn-out, Marjorie?” inquired John solicitously.
“You oughtn’t to have played tonight!”
“And lost the chance of that victory—with what it means to the scouts?
Oh, John, I’d have played till I dropped!”
“I believe you would!”
“But when I get home I certainly am going to take things easy.
Breakfast in bed every day, afternoon nap, retire at half past nine.
It’s going to be the simple life for me after the next ten days.”
“Then mayn’t I come up and see you?” he asked, a trifle pensively.
“Yes, indeed—whenever you like, if you don’t demand entertainment. You
will probably be bored to death; I don’t even feel as if I’ll be able
to talk about anything—not even my scout troop!”
John’s eyes lighted up; it would be a pleasant occurrence to have
Marjorie all to himself, not even disturbed by her own seething plans.
As soon as she reached her home town and was met by her family, she
outlined the same program to them. Her parents were astonished at the
idea of such a vacation, so different from the busy social whirl she
usually lived in. Mrs. Wilkinson was actually worried.
“You don’t feel sick, do you dear?” she asked.
“No, only tired,” her daughter assured her.
“And you haven’t made any engagements at all?”
“Only one—Lil is giving a luncheon to announce her engagement. So I’m
going over to New York on Tuesday.”
“Good for her!” cried Jack in approval. “I don’t need to ask who the
lucky fellow is.”
“No, I don’t think anybody will be very much surprised,” his sister
rejoined.
“Sis, you better hurry up!” teased the other. “You’ll be the old maid
of the troop!”
“I don’t care!” retorted Marjorie defiantly. “There are worse fates!”
“Marjorie,” asked her mother seriously, “have you made up your mind yet
what you are going to do next year?”
“Stay home with her old daddy, aren’t you, dear?” put in Mr. Wilkinson
hopefully.
“No, papa—I’m sorry I can’t. I’ve made up my mind to do scout work.”
“That’s a great idea!” he exclaimed joyfully. “Start a troop right
here, in your own home town!”
But Marjorie shook her head.
“No, papa, not a troop. I mean to become a scout director. I have
enrolled for a six weeks’ training course this summer.”
“Marjorie!”
“And we won’t even have you this vacation, then?” questioned her mother
wistfully.
“Part of the time I’ll be with you. The camp doesn’t open until July
first, and closes the fifteenth of August. Even if I get a position I
wouldn’t begin before the first of September.”
“Oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Wilkinson. “Well, if it will make you happy,
that’s all I care about—Now, tell me about your troop, the new one, I
mean.”
Marjorie was willing to talk about it for a while, but soon she
pronounced herself weary of it, and went off to take a nap.
It was not until the next day that Mrs. Wilkinson began to realize how
very tired her daughter was and she did not disturb her until long
after noon. Then she suggested that she see no callers.
“Only—John!” whispered Marjorie.
“Why, Marjorie!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson, her eyes brightening. “You
want him?”
“Yes, it’s funny—but—I sort of rest better when he’s around. I guess
that’s silly——”
“Not a bit, dear! He sent you some flowers this morning, but I didn’t
bring them up because you were asleep. Do you want them now?”
“Yes, indeed! What are they?”
“Violets.”
“I knew they would be. He knows they’re my favorite.”
In honor of the gift Marjorie selected a violet-grey voile from among
her simpler dinner dresses and waited for her visitor in her own little
private sitting room. He came in eagerly, seeming to bring freshness
and health with him as he entered.
“It’s good to see you with so much pep, John,” she said, admirably.
“I’ve been so lazy all day.”
“It’s just what you needed to be, my dear,” he answered tenderly. “You
think of everybody else but yourself. Your classmates—and those Girl
Scouts!”
“John, don’t let’s talk about scouts tonight. Your flowers—they’re so
wonderful—my lazy mood—everything makes me feel like poetry. Let’s
read.”
“I’d love to!”
Marjorie drew down one of her favorite volumes—a collection of Alfred
Noyes’ poems—and gave it to him to read aloud. She curled up in her
big chair and watched him dreamily.
It was a charming evening for both of them, too charming for John
to risk spoiling by chancing the refusal a repeated proposal would
probably bring. A few more evenings like this, he told himself, would
only serve to bind her more closely to him.
He inquired about her plans for Christmas day, and she invited him to
spend it with her. But he refused, for he did not want to leave his
mother alone.
Marjorie told him about Lily’s luncheon.
“I think it’s a surprise to most of the girls,” she explained.
“Probably not to Ethel—she’s such a wise old owl. But I’m certain
Daisy and Floss and Alice haven’t an inkling.”
“Who else will be there?” he asked.
“Everybody’s coming—even Doris and the baby. Mae and Tom are running
on from Ohio.”
“Is Tom to be at the luncheon?” John demanded jealously.
“Oh, no—only girls. He’ll have to look up somebody—some of his frat
brothers, I guess.”
“You mean the ones that trailed your car to the coast?” laughed John.
“Did you ever hear anything of them again?”
“No, never.”
“I thought one of them was quite smitten with Daisy.”
“So he seemed, but I guess he was ashamed of himself.”
Reluctantly John decided to go; Marjorie needed the rest.
“Marjorie, I am leaving your Christmas present with your mother, since
I won’t see you on Christmas. And may I come up the day after?”
“That’s the luncheon.”
“Well, I want to hear all about it.”
“I thought maybe I’d stay over night at Lil’s.”
“Then let me come there—Lily will have Dick, and you know that
‘three’s a crowd.’”
“Right, John! You’ll be more than welcome.”
Almost wistfully Marjorie watched him go; she had enjoyed the evening
even more than she would admit to herself. She took her flowers,
absently pressing them to her lips, and half closed her eyes dreamily.
After all, Girl Scouts were not the only thing in the world.
The next day she felt less tired, less depressed by the invisible
weight she had seemed to be carrying, and by Christmas her old spirits
had returned, she was quite herself again. John’s present turned out to
be books; knowing her taste he had selected just what she liked best,
yet in her heart she was a trifle disappointed. Why couldn’t it have
been jewelry—not a ring, of course, but a pin, perhaps—it would have
been so much more personal. Yet she knew that she had said nothing to
tempt him to risk taking such a liberty, and she could not but admire
him for his tact.
Her strength was so restored by the rest and quiet of the last few days
that she decided to drive to New York in her car. Daisy and Florence
would undoubtedly bring theirs, and perhaps Alice; it would be fun to
display them together to Mae and Doris.
The weather was cold, but clear, and the roads were hard and dry.
Wrapped snugly in her fur coat, she felt that the drive would be
exhilarating; she jumped into her car with as keen a sense of
anticipation as if it had been May instead of December. She did not
regret in the least the fact that she was to go alone; her own thoughts
would be as pleasant company as she could desire. At that moment
Marjorie Wilkinson was perfectly happy.
She found four cars exactly alike parked in front of Lily’s apartment
house, and for a second she wondered whether Ethel could have scorned
the distance and driven all the way from school in hers. An instant
later, however, she recognized Lily’s licence number, and laughed
at her roommate’s evident desire to be represented in the display.
Lily was prouder of her little roadster than she had ever been of her
Rolls-Royce.
She found four of the girls—Daisy, Alice, Ethel and Florence in a
circle about Lily, admiring her engagement ring—a solitaire in a
filigree platinum setting. Lily had discarded her other rings for the
time being, so the new jewel shone out in undisputed splendor on her
pretty hand.
“We’re not a bit surprised,” said Alice teasingly. “We’ve known it for
a long time!”
Lily turned indignantly towards her roommate.
“Marj!” she flared. “If you told on me——”
For a moment Marjorie looked hurt; then Lily burst out laughing.
“I know you didn’t, you old peach!” she declared. “But I guess after
all I couldn’t expect it to be much of a secret. Girls, where do you
suppose Doris and Mae are?”
“Coming now!” cried Ethel, rushing into the hall as the butler opened
the door.
Lily’s engagement was forgotten; everything, everybody faded into the
background at the entrance of the young mother with her baby. Little
Doris was four months old now, and they all pronounced her the very
cunningest baby they had ever seen. She was not in the least frightened
by the girls, but went from one to another of her admirers with the
sweetest smile.
“Our youngest Girl Scout!” Alice nicknamed her as she dropped on her
knees to play with her. “It was so thoughtful of you to have a girl,
Doris.”
Doris beamed in happiness, and her daughter imitated her with a smile.
“Who’ll hold her during luncheon?” asked Marjorie eager for her turn to
come.
“No one, of course!” answered the mother sternly. “Well brought-up
babies aren’t held during meals. They lie on a bed with their bottles.”
“Oh,” replied Marjorie humbly, “I guess I don’t know much.”
“You couldn’t know less than I did,” Doris assured her. “But it’s very
easy to learn—it sort of comes natural.”
She carried the baby into one of the bedrooms and the girls answered
the summons to luncheon. Although the table was elaborately decorated,
and the courses beautifully served, Lily explained that she had not
planned any special feature to announce her engagement in a novel way,
“because,” she concluded, “it has to be a complete surprise to pull off
a stunt like that.”
“And yours wasn’t,” added Ethel. “I supposed it was a fact ever since
last summer, but when I visited you that Sunday I was positive of it.”
“And I knew it all along, too!” Alice boasted.
“Well,” returned Lily, “since you’re all such clever guessers, tell me
which girl in the patrol is engaged—besides me!”
The girls all opened their eyes wide in interest and stopped eating to
look around the group and study the expressions of the others. No one,
apparently, betrayed any guilt.
“Who?” demanded Alice excitedly. “Tell us quick, Lil!”
Her hostess laughed softly.
“Oh, you’re so wise that I don’t have to tell you!”
“Well, let’s figure it out,” began Ethel. “Doris and Mae are
married—you’re not either of you contemplating a divorce, are you?”
Both girls shook their heads emphatically.
“Lily has announced her engagement, and I know I’m not the one. That
leaves Daisy, Floss, Alice and Marj.”
“It’s Marj, of course!” cried Alice.
Marjorie smiled enigmatically; it would be fun to tease them.
“Are you the one, Marj?” Alice persisted.
“She is!” exclaimed Daisy. “Look how guilty she looks!”
“No, girls, she isn’t,” Lily answered for her. “I give you my scout
word of honor, unless something has happened since we left college. But
I won’t hold you in suspense any more: I was only teasing you!”
“Then nobody is?” Alice inferred, a trifle disappointed.
“Goodness, isn’t one engagement enough for you in one day?” asked Ethel.
“Aren’t you really keeping anything from us, Marj?” Alice repeated.
“No,” laughed Marjorie. “Absolutely nothing. I have taken a solemn vow
not even to think of marriage until I get my Girl Scout troop firmly
established.”
“Good gracious, Marj! You’ll never get them ‘established,’ as you say!”
remarked Florence. “If you succeed in holding them together for a whole
week after the basketball season is over, I’ll treat you to a dinner at
the Ritz!”
“Thanks,” replied Marjorie confidently. “Better start to save your
money. And, to go back to the old subject, I mean to train for more
scout work. I’m going to take a six weeks’ course at the national
Leaders’ Camp this summer and hope to land a job next year.”
“Poor John!” muttered Daisy.
“Marj has had too much attention at this luncheon,” Ethel abruptly
announced. “We must concentrate on the bride-to-be. Tell us about your
plans, Lil.”
“Well, we expect to live in Philadelphia,” replied the latter, “for
Dick is permanently located there. We hope to get a house somewhere
near Doris and Roger.”
“And when are you going to be married?”
“In June—after graduation.”
“Think of getting an A.B. and a MRS. both in one month!” remarked
Daisy, almost enviously, it seemed.
“It will be lovely to have you in Philadelphia,” Doris assured
her. “Wouldn’t it be grand if all eight of us were married and
lived near together!”
“You _are_ domestic, Doris!” teased Ethel.
“Girls, that reminds me,” put in Lily, “I invited Mrs. Remington to
this luncheon, but she couldn’t come. So she sent her love, and asked
that we start a round-robin, to keep us informed with what everybody is
doing.”
“Great idea!” approved Ethel, who was least in touch with the others.
“I’ll start it this very week.”
A gentle coo from the baby in the adjoining room drew them away from
their coffee cups, and the remainder of the afternoon was spent in
admiration of Lily’s hope-chest, and little Doris Harris.