“Yes,” murmured Daisy, sadly.
Kirk turned to Marjorie.
“On the contrary, Marjorie, I should be glad to hear from you about the scouts, and whatever news you can find for a lonely man here on the ranch. When you decide to announce your engagement—” his eyes twinkled mischievously for a moment—“be sure to tell me about it. And by the way, I think he’s mighty fine!”
Marjorie blushed in embarrassment.
“Don’t, Kirk—there’s nothing to it—now, at any rate. I’ll be at college four years, and all sorts of things can happen during that time.”
It was all Marjorie could do to keep from telling them both of her hopes, but again she resolutely suppressed the desire. Both Daisy and Kirk realized that she was unusually happy, but both supposed it was because of her own joyful existence. Neither realized that it took something deeper than that to stir the very depths of the girl’s nature. So she managed to talk of indifferent things, and soon suggested that they go in, to spend the rest of their time with the Hiltons.
With the exception of the latter and Kirk Smith, everyone was leaving the ranch on the morrow. The Melville boys were going East to college, and their parents were to board their train at St. Paul. So the scouts were assured of a chaperone.
With the additional members to the party, the journey proved even more delightful to the girls than the trip out. Only Daisy and Marjorie were particularly anxious to reach home.
They arrived at New York on Tuesday, and were to separate until the following Saturday, when they were to go to Cape May.
“Are you going to tell your mother about our secret?” whispered Marjorie, as she said goodbye to John.