“I certainly am!” replied the girl; “and I’m glad I’m here.”
“I am too. Oh, Marj, I surely do hope you get that cup!”
“Why, Doris, what about yourself? Don’t you want to win it?”
Doris reached for her kimono and proceeded to get out of bed.
“You know I don’t stand a chance,” she said; “so I’d rather have you win it.”
“It’s awfully sweet of you,” murmured Marjorie, as she, too, started to dress.
“Do you feel all right—rested, I mean?” pursued Doris.
“Yes, indeed; I’m going in bathing this morning.”
The party had never been so gay, so care-free, so hilarious, as it was that morning, gathered at one long breakfast table. The shadow of anxiety had been lifted, and the day, with its bright plans, promised to be most delightful. Marjorie seemed the most joyful of the group. Perhaps this was because of the contrast of the present scene to those of the preceding several days.
“Did you dream about your old man last night, Marjorie?” asked Mrs. Andrews.