[CHAPTER XXV—AN EXCITING FATHER]
A tall man, who was very good looking indeed, stood beside the library table. A man of perhaps forty, with a fair skin, bronzed by much exposure to the sun, abundant light hair that grew in a pleasing way and fine blue eyes. He was gazing expectantly toward the door.
Henrietta, after one look at the visitor, was across the room with her arms about his neck.
“Daddy! Why, Dad!”
Marjory, wisely concluding that no chaperon was needed, slipped unheeded from the room and fled away through twisting hallways and long corridors to the West wing where she found that Sallie had already spread the news.
“Henrietta’s father,” breathed Bettie, “isn’t that great! And only two hours ago Henrietta was weeping on her bed because her grandmother’s letter was so discouraging.”
“Does he look like Henrietta?” asked Jean. “You know we’ve never seen him.”
“Not a bit,” said Marjory, “he’s fair—a regular blond. And oh, so good looking. She’s like the pictures of her dark mother, you know.”
“He looks just like an earl or a duke or something like that,” said Sallie. “When the Seniors see him they’re going to be glad that they were polite to Henrietta. He’s the best looking father that ever came to this school and I ought to know, because I’ve been making a study of fathers for a long, long time. Of course, most any kind of a father looks mighty good to me. I don’t envy Henrietta her good clothes, her pretty looks or her pretty ways; but I would like to wake up suddenly and find myself down in that library shaking hands with a father.”
In the meantime, Henrietta, who had been almost speechless at first, was making up for lost time. There were traces of tears on her cheeks but her eyes were joyful.