The next moment he had disappeared.
CHAPTER XXV.
CONCLUSION.
Another week had passed by, and Marjorie was to be allowed to come down stairs for dinner. Gradually she was growing stronger; the color was returning to her cheeks, the vivacity to her voice. Perhaps it was John’s visit, with its apologies and explanations that had given her a renewed interest in life, or perhaps it was the bunch of violets that arrived each day from the florist, or the letter that came punctually with each morning’s mail. At any rate, it seemed so to Queenie, for the very day after her trip to the city, the doctor pronounced Marjorie able to get up for a while, and to repeat this program for an increasing length of time each day, until he considered her strong enough to go down stairs. The added exertion seemed not to hurt her in the least; indeed, after three days he agreed that the nurse’s services were no longer necessary.
All this time Queenie had safely guarded her secret, going about her duties with a smile on her lips and a suppressed light in her eyes. Half the pleasure would be lost if she divulged it before the appointed moment.
Marjorie, however, was not too deeply engrossed in her own affairs to notice that Queenie was unusually happy, and she longed to be able to share her joy with her. Once or twice she ventured to ask her about it, but Queenie had only laughed, and replied that it was only because Marjorie was getting better that she felt like dancing with every step.
On the very morning that Marjorie was to celebrate her recovery by a little dinner party down stairs, she made one more attempt to fathom the younger girl’s secret.
“Queenie,” she began, as she folded John’s letter and replaced it in the envelope, “You’re keeping something from me. Please tell me! You’re not engaged, or anything, are you?”
The other girl burst out laughing.
“Miss Wilkinson! Of course I’m not! Why, who would I be engaged to? You know I haven’t seen any of my old fellows—or heard from them, either——”