In honor of the gift Marjorie selected a violet-grey voile from among her simpler dinner dresses and waited for her visitor in her own little private sitting room. He came in eagerly, seeming to bring freshness and health with him as he entered.
“It’s good to see you with so much pep, John,” she said, admirably. “I’ve been so lazy all day.”
“It’s just what you needed to be, my dear,” he answered tenderly. “You think of everybody else but yourself. Your classmates—and those Girl Scouts!”
“John, don’t let’s talk about scouts tonight. Your flowers—they’re so wonderful—my lazy mood—everything makes me feel like poetry. Let’s read.”
“I’d love to!”
Marjorie drew down one of her favorite volumes—a collection of Alfred Noyes’ poems—and gave it to him to read aloud. She curled up in her big chair and watched him dreamily.
It was a charming evening for both of them, too charming for John to risk spoiling by chancing the refusal a repeated proposal would probably bring. A few more evenings like this, he told himself, would only serve to bind her more closely to him.
He inquired about her plans for Christmas day, and she invited him to spend it with her. But he refused, for he did not want to leave his mother alone.
Marjorie told him about Lily’s luncheon.
“I think it’s a surprise to most of the girls,” she explained. “Probably not to Ethel—she’s such a wise old owl. But I’m certain Daisy and Floss and Alice haven’t an inkling.”