"Four letters for you, Lieutenant. Hunt them," decreed Mrs. Dean, as
Marjorie burst into the living room, her cheeks rosy from the nipping
kisses of the winter air.
"Oh, I know where they are." Jubilantly overturning the contents of her
mother's sewing basket, she triumphantly drew them forth. Without
bothering to remove her wraps she plumped down at her mother's feet to
revel in her spoils.
"Here's one from Mary. I'll read that last. Here's one from Harriet."
Opening it she read it through and passed it to her mother. "Harriet's
almost well again. Isn't that good news? Why----" she had opened the
next--"it's from Mignon; a little note of thanks. Oh, Captain!" she
stared hard at the note. "I've discovered something. Mignon's not the
horrid Observer. See. The writing and paper and all are quite different.
I'm sure she isn't. She'd never ask anyone else to write such letters.
It's not her way."
"Then that is good news, too," smiled Mrs. Dean. "I am also glad to know
it. It is dreadful to misjudge anyone."
"I know that. I wish I knew who the Observer was, too." Marjorie sighed
and took up the next letter. As she read it she laughed outright. "It's
from General, the old dear. Just listen:
"Esteemed Lieutenant:
"Head up, forward march to the downtown barracks. Report for stern
duty at 4:30 to-morrow (Thursday) P. M. Your most military presence
is requested to assist in conferring with an official committee in a
matter of great importance to the parties concerned. Failure to
appear on time will be punished by court-martial. Be warned not to
try to ambush your general in the living room to ascertain the facts
beforehand. You will only be captured and sent to the guard house.
"Signed,
"General Dean."
"It's a surprise," nodded Marjorie. "I know it is. Very well, I'll show
him that I'm not a bit curious. I'll tell him, though, that it's not
fair to threaten a soldier. Do you know what it's about, Captain?"
"No; I am equally in the dark. I wouldn't tell you if I knew," Mrs. Dean
answered teasingly.
"I wouldn't let you," retorted Marjorie. "I have to be loyal to my
orders. Now I'll read Mary's letter and then go and answer it. If I
don't answer it now I might put it off."
Laying the three notes aside, she busied herself with the long letter
from Mary, reading it aloud with numerous exclamations and comments.
True to her word, she made no mention to her father of his letter.
Delighting to tease her, he hinted broadly concerning it, but failed to
draw Marjorie into questioning him.
Nevertheless, it was a most curious young woman who entered his office
the following afternoon at the exact moment of appointment. Her
curiosity was lost in wide-eyed amazement as she saw that he was not
alone. Seated in a chair beside his desk was a stout, dark man of middle
age, whose restless, black eyes and small, dark mustache bespoke the
foreigner. But this was not the cause of her astonishment. It lay in the
fact that the man was Mignon La Salle's father. Both men rose as she
entered, Mr. La Salle bowing to her in the graceful fashion of the
Frenchman.
"Sit here, Lieutenant. Mr. La Salle wishes to talk with you. He is kind
enough to allow me to be present at the conference."
"Miss Marjorie, I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before
to-day. It is a very great pleasure. I have already thanked your father
for his kindness to my daughter several evenings since. Now I must thank
you, too. But I wish also to ask a far greater favor. My daughter,
Mignon," he paused as though at a loss to proceed, "is a somewhat
peculiar girl. For many years she has had no mother." He sighed, then
continuing, "I wish her to be all that is good and fine. But I am a busy
man. I cannot take time to be with her as I would desire. From my friend
Harold Macy I have heard many pleasant things of you and your friends.
So I have thought that it might be well to ask you if you----" Again he
paused, his black eyes riveted on Marjorie, "if you will take an
interest in my daughter, so that I may feel that her associates are of
the best.
"I regret greatly her friendship with Miss Farnham. But that is past.
She has told me all, and I have forbidden their further intimacy.
Perhaps you are already the friend of my Mignon? If so, it is, indeed,
well. If not, may I hope that you will soon become such, indeed?" There
was a trace of pleading in his carefully enunciated speech with its
slightly foreign accent.
A queer, choking sensation gripped Marjorie's throat. She was
immeasurably touched. Happy in her General's love, she glimpsed
something of the tender motive, which had actuated this stern man of
business to plead for his daughter's welfare.
"I am willing to be Mignon's friend, if she is willing to be mine," she
answered with grave sweetness. "I think I may speak for my friends,
also."
"Thank you. She will respond, I am sure." A faint tightening of his thin
lips gave hint that he would see to the exaction of that response. "It
will be a pleasure to invite you to dine with us to-morrow evening," he
added. La Salle Père evidently intended to allow no grass to grow under
his feet.
"Thank you. May I go, General?" Marjorie's eyes sought her father's.
Though she had maintained a gracious composure, he guessed that she was
far from easy over this queer turn of affairs. There was a faintly
martyred look in her brown eyes.
"Yes," he said in a steady, reassuring tone. "Your General approves." He
flashed her a mischievous glance.
"Then you may expect me." Marjorie rose and offered her hand to the
anxious father. "I must go now," she said. "I am very glad to have met
you, Mr. La Salle."
Once outside the office she drew a long breath of dismay. "I'm quite
sure of most of the girls," was her reflection, "but what, oh, what will
Jerry say?"