“Why not come to Maine?” suggested the young man.
“Yes, I’d like that—but I don’t know what papa is planning. It all depends upon him. But he won’t tell me a word.”
“Aren’t the Girl Scouts going camping?” asked Griffith.
“No; the captain, Mrs. Remington, couldn’t go, and at present we have no lieutenant, so we let the whole matter drop. I’m sorry, too, for I know I’m going to miss it all dreadfully.”
“And when do you expect to know your father’s plan?”
“Tomorrow, I hope,” she answered.
They had reached the school now, and they paused at the doorway. Marjorie put out her hand.
“You can’t come tomorrow?” she asked.
“No, I’m sorry,” said Griffith. “I’d love to, but we have a frat meeting. You’ll write?”
“Yes, if you write first. Well, goodnight!”