“Tomorrow? Let me think.” Marjorie’s dark brows drew thoughtfully
together. “Why, I’m not going anywhere, Hal.” Marjorie made an effort to
be casual which was only half successful. “I’m going to be busy packing.
I shall have to take an early train for Hamilton on Thursday morning so
as not to reach there late at night. I won’t have a minute’s spare time
Thursday morning. I’ll have to be ready as ready can be on Wednesday
night.”
The boating party had left the Oriole once more tied to the pier and had
strolled back along the sands to Cliff House. To her surprised relief,
Hal had not attempted to renew the subject she dreaded to discuss. In
fact he had had very little to say. Responsive to this new mood of his
she had walked beside him almost in silence, smiling at the animated
discussion Jerry and Danny kept up all the way to the hotel. Laurie and
Connie were as mute as she and Hal. Such understanding silences were
characteristic of them, however.
As ardently as he had courted an opportunity to tell Marjorie he loved
her Hal now upbraided himself for having been so stupid as to blurt out
his feelings “when the gang were around.” He would finish telling her
what he had begun to say when Danny and Jerry had interrupted. He was
resolved on that point. He was also determined that she should hear him
out before she left Severn Beach on her mid-summer trip to Hamilton.
“Can’t you find time to go out in the Oriole with me tomorrow afternoon,
Marjorie?” There lurked a trace of stubborn purpose in Hal’s question.
“It will be our last sea voyage in the good ship, Oriole, this summer,
you know. I suppose you will go from Hamilton back to Sanford.” Hal eyed
her almost gloomily.
Marjorie nodded. The two had reached the main entrance of the hotel a
trifle ahead of their chums. They now stood waiting at the foot of the
wide, ornamental flight of steps which led up to the central veranda of
the enormous white stone hotel.
“I’ll try to go for a part of the afternoon, Hal,” she promised, careful
to keep reluctance out of her voice. Pinned down to answer directly she
had not the stony-heartedness with which Jerry had ticketed her. She
could not flatly refuse the invitation of her boy friend of long
standing.
“Good work! Which part?” Hal instantly brightened. “Let us settle that
point before you have time to change your mind and back out,” he said
boyishly.
“The very idea! You only say that, Hal Macy,” Marjorie retorted with
playful emphasis. “I’m not a mind changer, nor a backer-out, either.”
“Beg your pardon, and double beg it.” Hal allowed a teasing note to
creep into the answer. Already he was feeling less dejected. He had been
half afraid that Marjorie might refuse to go for a last ride in the
Oriole.
The swift unbidden reflection that Marjorie might not be quite so
indifferent to him as he had thought brought a sudden flush to his
cheeks and an odd new sense of hope to his sore heart. She could hardly
have failed to understand the import of what he had begun to tell her on
the way to the boat. Yet she had not refused to go for a ride with him
on the morrow. She must surely have guessed the hidden reason for his
invitation to her.
“Say, what time, Marjorie,” Hal again urged. “All afternoon would suit
me best,” he added boldly.
“You can’t have all afternoon.” Marjorie lightly objected. “I’ll have to
hurry like mad in order to squeeze the ride into tomorrow’s program.
I’ll be ready to go as soon as luncheon’s over. I must be back at my
packing by not a minute later than three o’clock. You and Jerry had
better come to our table for luncheon. Is Jerry going with us?” Marjorie
made a last attempt to ward off what appeared to be inevitable.
“No, she isn’t. I haven’t asked her,” was the pointed reply. “Thank you,
but I won’t be at the hotel until I come up for you. I’m going to
Carver’s Island early in the morning to see a crowd of fellows I know
who have a bungalow there. You usually have luncheon at one, don’t you?
I’ll meet you in the Dresden lounge at half past one. Then we won’t lose
any of your precious time,” Hal concluded almost grimly.
“All right,” Marjorie assented. She was glad Hal had used a mildly
peremptory tone. She had always admired his courteous, but positive,
manner of settling a matter.
“Why in such a hurry?” Laurie questioned indolently as he and Constance
now mounted the steps. “You two walked ahead of us as though you were on
a training hike. Is that the way to appreciate a heavenly night like
this?”
“It is when it’s after ten o’clock and one has to be up and doing by
seven tomorrow morning,” flung back Marjorie. “You forget, Mr. Laurie
Armitage, that _I’m going away, day after tomorrow_.” She emphasized
each word with a vigorous bob of the head.
“No; none of us have forgotten that, Marjorie,” Laurie bent a sudden
warm friendly smile on her.
“We’re going to miss you dreadfully, Lieutenant.” Constance put an arm
around Marjorie. The two stood and swayed back and forth schoolgirl
fashion.
“Not half so much as I shall,” Hal voiced frank regret. “Marjorie is a
real pal. I’m going to miss her at every turn and corner. I’m going to
annex myself to the Armitage family and become a pest after Marjorie
goes.”
“Go as far as you like, old man,” Laurie invited. “Connie and I will do
our best to amuse and cherish you.”
“Cherish! Ah-h-h!” gurgled Danny who had just come up with Jerry. “Such
a sweet word! Did anybody ever hear Jurry-miar say it to me?” He rolled
his eyes and clasped his hands. “Silence? What? Don’t all speak at once.
No? I thought not.”
“No one ever _will_ hear me say it to you,” Jerry told him in a tired
tone.
“How ought I to receive such a remark?” Danny eyed her dubiously.
“Answer me, Jurry-miar.” He leaned far forward and stared fixedly at
Jerry.
Her stolid expression deserted her. She had to laugh at the ludicrous
set of Danny’s freckled features. “Oh, never mind,” she conceded. “Let’s
be amiable to each other for ten minutes. I’ll hold the stop watch.”
“U-h-h-h!” Danny simulated collapse. “This is so unexpected. Hurry up,
gang. Let’s go to the palm grotto for ices. If we hustle, Jur—I mean,
Geraldine and I can sit at the same table without snapping at each
other. Come, boys,” he beckoned grandly to Hal and Laurie. “Gentlemen
will be treated to ices as well as ladies. Think of that!” He smirked
patronizingly at the two young men.
“I oughtn’t linger longer,” gaily demurred Marjorie. “Truly, Danny, I——”
She went to the palm grotto, however, marched there between Hal and
Danny. During the enjoyable half hour the young people spent over the
ices Hal was his usual jolly, light-hearted self. Marjorie welcomed the
change in him from sombre seriousness to his old care-free manner. When
she left him with a friendly good night at the door of the Dean’s
apartment she could have almost believed him to be the Hal of her high
school days, had not the memory of his earnest words flashed across her
brain. She could still hear him saying: “I’ve wished always that it
would be so with you and me,” in the eager, impassioned fashion which
awoke no responsive echo in her heart.
She stepped into the living room her usually bright face so pre-occupied
that it at once caught Mrs. Dean’s attention as she smilingly glanced up
from the magazine she held.
“I won’t qualify for the early bird class in the morning, I’m afraid,”
Marjorie said with the merest suspicion of a smile. “Never mind; I’m
going to get up early even if I do lose some sleep.”
“Was that what made you look so sober as you came in, Lieutenant?” Mrs.
Dean asked, amused surprise in the question.
“Did I look very sober?” Marjorie quickly countered.
“_Very_,” emphasized her mother.
“Well,” Marjorie paused, “I felt sober. Where’s General, Captain?” She
glanced questioningly toward the next room.
“He and Mr. Macy motored down to Logan Beach this evening to see a game
of chess between two expert players, both friends of Mr. Macy’s. He’ll
hardly be home before midnight.” Mrs. Dean continued affectionately to
watch Marjorie.
“Oh-h-h.” Marjorie dropped down on a low chair. For a moment she sat
plaiting little folds in the soft white evening scarf, now fallen into
careless disarrangement across one shoulder. “Oh,” she said again.
“Er-oh, dear! I’ve something to report, Captain. I wish I hadn’t. I
couldn’t report it to General as I can to you. It’s about Hal. He’s
going to ask me to marry him. I _wish_ he _wouldn’t_.”
The vehemence with which Marjorie voiced the disquieting report brought
a shadowy flash of concern to her mother’s face. It faded instantly into
a distinctly humorous expression.
“How do you know Hal is going to ask you to marry him?” she quizzed, her
eyes twinkling. “You’ve heard the old sad tale of Miss Betty Baxter who
refused Captain Jones before he axed her.”
“Oh-h, Captain!” Marjorie made a laughing open-armed rush at her mother.
“Stop making fun of me. My case isn’t a bit like silly Miss Betty
Baxter’s. What an idiotic person she must have been! You see, dearest,”
she slid an arm about her mother’s neck. “Why—Hal——” Her color mounted
to her white forehead—“began to ask me down on the beach tonight. Then
Danny and Jerry came up to us. _They_ didn’t know what he was saying to
me, of course. He surprised me, too.”
Hesitatingly, Marjorie went on to tell her captain of her talk with Hal
on the beach which had led up to his impulsive declaration of love. It
was not easy to repeat, even to her mother. She had taken a stand behind
her mother’s low-backed chair, arms dropped forward. One hand patted a
light tattoo on her mother’s shoulder as she talked. Presently her voice
trailed off into silence. Her head went down against her mother’s neck.
“Bring over the low stool, Lieutenant,” Mrs. Dean ordered in her
briskest “army” tone.
“Yes, Captain.” Quick as a flash Marjorie’s arms dropped from her
captain’s shoulders. She left a light kiss on her mother’s soft brown
hair, then marched across the room for the stool. She set it down at her
captain’s feet, saluted and stood at rigid attention.
“Break ranks. Discipline seems to be still alive in the army,” Mrs. Dean
observed with a smile.
“It is.” Marjorie settled herself on the cushioned stool and leaned her
elbows on her mother’s knees. She looked up inquiringly, face between
hands. “What is it, Captain? You haven’t said _one_ word of what you
think about—about Hal and me.”
“I’m thinking for a moment of what I had best say.” Mrs. Dean looked
fondly down at the lovely colorful face raised to her own.
For an instant neither spoke. Then Mrs. Dean said with kindly
deliberation: “If you loved Hal in the same whole-hearted way in which I
believe he loves you, General and I should be glad of your engagement to
him. General thinks Hal a man among young men. You know how much that
means. We have occasionally discussed your long friendship with Hal and
his entire devotion to you. We know that you do not love him. We are
sorry that you cannot return his great affection for you.” One hand
strayed caressingly over Marjorie’s curls. There followed another brief
interval, then: “We wish you to be true to yourself, Lieutenant. That is
the order of the day.”
“Dearest and best,” Marjorie reached for her mother’s hands, took them
in her own and fondled them; “why, oh, why didn’t I fall in love with
Hal as Connie did with Laurie? I don’t know why. I’ll have to tell him
so tomorrow and it will hurt me almost as much to say it as it will hurt
him to hear it. He’s been such a splendid comfy friend. I can’t bear to
say ‘no’ to him, and I can’t say ‘yes.’ It’s a hard detail, Captain, but
I must face it as a true soldier should. All I can do is tell Hal
frankly, but in the best way I can, that I don’t love him and never
shall.”