“Don’t judge everybody by yourself, Doris,” teased Marjorie. “I don’t expect any callers—I mean to give up all my time to the tea-house.”
“If we get one!” Marie Louise reminded her.
“Well, here’s hoping!” returned the other.
The conversation at dinner hinged upon the two topics of supreme importance to the little group at that time—the wedding, and the operation of the tea-house. Sometimes it was one, sometimes the other; once in a while Mr. and Mrs. Harris, or Mrs. Hadley would introduce a subject of general interest, only to find that it was immediately dropped by the young people for their more personal affairs. At last they abandoned their attempts in amusement, to follow the course of least resistance.
Mr. Harris suggested a fire in the fire-place after dinner, as the night was rather chilly, and while John helped him to make it, the two older women and Marjorie and Marie Louise started to play bridge. Off in a shadowy corner of the room sat the lovers, whispering intimately together over the plans for their new home.
In spite of her interest in the game, however, Marjorie found it impossible to keep from talking. Every few minutes she felt that she simply had to make a remark or to ask a question relative to the project that was uppermost in her mind.
“You’re going with us tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked Marie Louise, in an interval between hands.
“Going where?” inquired the other, as she shuffled the cards.
“On our search for the tea-house, of course, John is going to drive us up around the Wissahickon, and along the outskirts of the Park, to look for some picturesque barn or old mill.”
“I’d be delighted!” cried Marie Louise, joyfully. She was as much interested in the undertaking as if she had been an original member of the famous patrol.