THE ENGAGEMENT SHOWER
Lily and Marjorie slept late again the following morning. Mrs. Andrews
had assured them that there was nothing for them to do in preparation
for the luncheon, except to be ready to receive the guests when they
arrived.
Both girls had selected more or less elaborate costumes—sleeveless
models of georgette and chiffon—and were dressing with the utmost care.
For what could possibly be more important than the celebration of an
engagement of one of their number?
“Doesn’t it sort of make you feel old, Lil?” asked Marjorie, as she
applied the final touches of powder to her nose. “I mean the idea of one
of our bunch getting married?”
“Yes,” agreed Lily. “I had been thinking of that sort of thing as in the
future for us, and here we are in the midst of it.”
“The only thing is—Doris is so awfully young. Most American girls don’t
get married in their teens, you know.”
“Well, I certainly hope you won’t, Marj!” remarked Lily. “I’d never go
back to college without you.”
“Don’t you worry about that!” returned her chum, laughingly. “I’m going
to get my degree, all right!”
Mrs. Andrews’s voice from the other end of the apartment put a stop to
this conversation. She was calling to the girls to come and inspect the
table.
As they opened the dining-room door a moment later, Marjorie was simply
astounded by the beauty and elaborateness of the decorations. She had
never seen anything so lovely before, even within the covers of a
magazine, and she gazed in speechless admiration.
The general color-scheme was pink—pink roses, pink ribbons, pink candles
in profusion. A large pink silk parasol, filled with flowers, hung by
streamers from the ceiling, and from each of its points a ribbon, tied
to a place-card and a bouquet, fluttered to a plate at the table. The
“shower,” too, was literally coming down from the sky, for the packages
which had been received ahead of time by Mrs. Andrews, were wrapped in
tissue paper and suspended by ribbon from the ceiling to a height a
little above the parasol in the center.
“It’s gorgeous!” cried Marjorie, in ecstasy. “The very prettiest thing
I’ve ever seen! Doris will remember it for the rest of her life.”
“I’m glad you like it,” smiled Mrs. Andrews. “Is there anything you
could suggest?”
“No, it’s perfect as it is!” replied Marjorie. “I sort of feel as if we
oughtn’t to disturb it by eating luncheon here.”
“Yes, suppose we eat in the kitchen,” suggested Lily. “And just come in
here to admire the table!”
“Now Lil, don’t get sarcastic! Tell me, does Doris have the slightest
idea?”
“No, she thinks it’s just a luncheon for you. Though why I should invite
Marie Louise Harris, a girl whom we scarcely know—ought to set her
wondering. But you know Doris doesn’t wonder much—she just accepts
things. You couldn’t fool Ethel Todd, for instance!”
“Girls,” interrupted Lily’s mother, “I just heard the door-bell—it may
be some of your guests. Don’t you think you had better go and receive
them?”
The girls ran off and found the butler guiding Doris and Marie Louise
Harris into the drawing-room.
“Congratulations, Doris!” they both cried immediately, embracing her
affectionately. “We saw it in the paper—picture and all—night before
last!”
Doris blushed becomingly.
“And I did keep it a surprise till then, didn’t I?” she asked
triumphantly. “Of course Marie Louise knew it, and one or two of the
girls I see every day; but I don’t think any of the senior patrol
members had the slightest suspicion!”
Lily turned around and winked cautiously at Marjorie; the surprise was
going to work beautifully.
“I thought it might shower,” remarked Marie Louise, nonchalantly, “so I
brought an umbrella.”
“Yes, wasn’t that crazy!” said Doris, missing the point entirely. “I
never saw a clearer day.”
“I think it was exceedingly wise,” asserted Lily; “one can never tell
when there will be a shower now.” With difficulty, she restrained a
smile.
“I know they always say there is a lot of rain in April,” said Doris.
“And if one wears one’s best clothes—”
“Why, here are Florence and Daisy!” interrupted Lily, rushing forward to
greet the new arrivals. “And if they haven’t brought umbrellas too!”
“Yes, we thought there might be a shower,” said Florence, suppressing a
giggle.
“You girls have me positively scared!” said Doris. “I have on a brand
new pair of suede slippers—”
“Oh, I guess we can scrape up enough for a taxi for you, Doris, if the
shower lasts,” offered Lily. “But it’s my opinion that it will be over
before you go home.”
“I hope so!” sighed Doris, still unsuspecting.
When Mae, Ethel and Alice finally arrived separately, each carrying an
umbrella, the girls all thought Doris would have to guess the
significance. But she remained innocent until they went into the
dining-room.
Just as she entered the room, Lily suddenly cried out:
“The shower at last!”
Doris burst into happy laughter, and the other girls crowded about her
as Lily gradually let down the parcels from the ceiling.
“Girls, it’s just too wonderful!” she exclaimed, as she examined one
gift after another, her face radiant with joy. Marjorie watched her
admiringly, wondering whether her own future held any such thrilling
experience for her.
“But there are lots more than eight gifts here!” remarked Doris,
overpowered by their lavishness.
“Yes, lots of the girls’ mothers sent them, and even some of the boys,”
explained Lily. “And—the biggest surprise of all was Mrs. Hadley’s,
wasn’t it?”
“It certainly was!” agreed Doris, turning the pages of an attractive
little book about the Wissahickon, illustrated by some charming
sketches. “She must have known we expect to live in Philadelphia.”
“Yes, I told her,” replied Lily, “and she asked whether I thought you
would like it. I assured her you would.”
“I do—I love it,” said the other.
The maids began to serve the luncheon, and the menu, which was as
daintily and as carefully planned as the decorations, did not fail to
make its appeal to the guests. Doris alone was too much excited to eat.
“But I don’t see how you ever guessed it,” she said to Lily, as she
nibbled at her roll. “It was a secret.”
“A little bird told me,” laughed Lily; “but if he hadn’t, I could have
guessed it from your face, Doris. People don’t look so joyous over
spring wardrobes and summer plans.”
“Well, maybe you’re right, Lily. I guess I do look rather happy—for I
am!”
“Do tell us when it is coming off, Doris,” begged Alice. “And all about
it.”
“The date is set for the first of June, and I’m going to have a church
wedding—with quite a large reception afterwards. You must all come!”
“Don’t worry!” cried Florence. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
“Marie Louise is to be my maid-of-honor,” continued Doris, “and Mae and
Marjorie my bridesmaids—at least if Marj will; for I haven’t had a
chance to ask her yet.”
“I’ll be delighted,” said Marjorie, flattered by the invitation.
“And you’re going to live in Philadelphia,” added Lily. “That will be
nice for Marie Louise, won’t it?”
“It surely will,” replied the girl, an attractive young woman with blond
hair and blue eyes. She looked adoringly at Doris, as if she already
regarded her as a sister.
“Have you bought the house yet?” asked Alice.
“No, Roger is looking all around. We want to find a place in the
suburbs, not too far away from the family.”
“Imagine the fun of furnishing it—everything all new and shining!”
exclaimed Mae, rapturously. “Making curtains, and draperies, and sofa
pillows—oh, Doris, no wonder you’re happy!”
The conversation continued along this line until the luncheon was
concluded, for all of the girls seemed as interested as Doris in the
details. Neither Marjorie nor Daisy made any mention of the baby until
they found themselves together on the big divan in the reception room.
“How is Betty?” asked Marjorie, turning eagerly to her companion. “I’ve
been dying to ask, but couldn’t make an opportunity without seeming too
abrupt.”
“She’s wonderful—gaining every day!” replied Daisy, enthusiastically.
“Florence’s mother got a pair of scales, and we weighed her. And a
friend is going to lend us a coach, so she can get out every day.”
“Is she still awfully cute?”
“Cuter than ever! Oh, Marj, you just ought to see her in her bath!”
“And—and what is the news of the mother?” Marjorie put the question
falteringly, as if she almost dreaded the answer.
“She’s still alive—and apparently doing all right. They are expecting to
operate, and if she gets through the operation there is some chance of
her living. But it will be long and slow.”
“And meanwhile she will need money,” added Marjorie. “Well, Daisy, we’ve
just got to get it, somehow!”
“Have you thought of any plan?”
“No, not yet. I talked the thing over with Lily and John Hadley—he and
Dick Roberts were here for dinner last night—but nobody could suggest a
thing. Still, John promised to consult his mother, and you know she’s
pretty clever about things like that. She’s done a lot of social work.”
“Wasn’t it sweet of her to send Doris that book?” remarked Daisy. “By
the way, I wanted to see it.”
Strolling to the table where Doris had brought her presents, Daisy
picked up the book and carried it over to where Marjorie was sitting.
Idly they turned the pages together.
“It certainly is a picturesque spot,” observed Marjorie, charmed by the
sketches of the historic creek and the old buildings in its vicinity. “I
wish I could see it.”
“We’ll all have to visit Doris after she gets settled,” said Daisy. “A
little reunion for the senior patrol.”
“Daisy!” cried Marjorie, abruptly. “I have it—an inspiration! Why not
get permission to run a little tea-room in one of these historic places
along the Wissahickon—all summer—taking turns in managing it! We could
support Betty!”
“Marvellous!” cried Daisy, so loud that the other girls all stopped
talking to inquire what had brought forth the exclamation.
It was then that Daisy told them of her adventure—of the errand upon
which Mrs. Evans had sent Florence and herself; of the finding of the
sick woman and the temporary adoption of the baby, and of her promise
for its future if the mother should die. Before the girls could even ask
her any questions, Marjorie followed her explanation with a recital of
her own newly thought of plan.
“But you’d never get permission to use the Park, or any of those
buildings,” said Ethel, who always saw the practical side of every
undertaking.
“The Washington Girl Scouts did something of the sort,” replied
Marjorie. “And made a success of it, too!”
“But are we old enough?” asked Florence.
“Yes, for I’m sure Mrs. Hadley would help us. She lives in Philadelphia
now, you know.”
“And then I could chaperone you,” laughed Doris; and the girls joined in
her merriment at the idea of such a slip of a girl acting in that
capacity.
“Really, now, girls, tell me what your plans are for the summer and how
much time we could count on from each of you,” urged Marjorie.
“I have only two weeks’ vacation, but I’ll give you one,” offered Mae,
immediately.
“And I’ll give as much of my daytime as I can spare from my
housekeeping,” said Doris.
“You can have my whole summer!” cried Daisy, generously.
“And mine!” added Alice.
“And a good part of mine!” put in Ethel.
“How about you, Lil?” asked Marjorie, hopefully.
“I don’t know—part, anyway. It will depend upon father and mother. But
I’m pretty sure dad will put up the capital to start us off.”
“Oh, that’s great!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Then it’s settled. I’m going to
write to Mrs. Hadley tonight.”
Neither Marie Louise nor Florence had said anything during this time,
the former because she did not consider it her place to intrude, the
latter because she was determined to maintain the attitude of scornful
indifference which she had adopted at first. But now Florence felt a
little embarrassed because of her own silence; and decided to turn the
conversation by teasing Marjorie.
“I see why it appeals to Marj!” she remarked, significantly. “She’ll be
able to see John Hadley every single evening all summer!”
But Marjorie was ready with a retort in her own defence.
“Daisy,” she said, appealing to the girl by her side, “I call upon you
to witness the fact that I was just as anxious to do something for the
baby at the beginning, before I ever thought of Philadelphia, as I am
now. Isn’t that true?”
“It certainly is!” replied Daisy, staunchly.
“May I offer a suggestion?” asked Lily. “Let each girl be responsible
for little Betty’s support for one week, after Daisy goes back to
school, to carry her expenses until we get the tea-room running. What do
you say?”
All the girls, even Florence Evans, assented immediately to this
proposition, and then Marie Louise timidly made her offer.
“If Marjorie succeeds,” she said, “how would you like to have our house
for the summer—to live in, I mean; for you wouldn’t want to live at a
tea-house. Papa and mamma are going to Maine and Roger will be married,
so I’m sure you’d be welcome to it!”
“Splendid!” cried Marjorie, delighted at each new development in the
accomplishment of her plan. “And could you be with us, Marie Louise?”
“Yes, if you didn’t mind having an outsider!”
“You’re not an outsider any more!” protested Lily. “Henceforth we adopt
you into the patrol!”
“But I didn’t even go to Miss Allen’s!”
“You’ll be Doris’s sister—so that settles it,” concluded Marjorie. “And
with all your art-school experience, you can probably help us a lot with
your ideas.”
“I mean to help you in other ways, too,” said Marie Louise.
The girls continued to discuss the thing until it was time to go.
“I knew it would turn out all right!” said Daisy, triumphantly, as she
put on her hat. “Because the baby’s name is Betty—after Mrs. Remington.”
“And because Marj is our lieutenant,” added Lily; “and ours is a patrol
of Girl Scouts that can’t be defeated!”