General Dean continued to buzz about among the congenial little throng with a great deal of loud remark concerning “the promoting of good behavior in the Army.” At length he succeeded in seating the animated, festive detachment to his liking. He assigned Miss Susanna to the center of the gold brocade chaise lounge and ranged Marjorie and Leila on each side of her. The others he ordered into an open group about the golden dais. Finally he appeared satisfied. He crossed the room to the gift tree at a magnificent military strut:
“Attention,” he boomed in a voice so stentorian it set the chattering formation to laughing.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE VIOLET GIRL
In spite of laughter the Army obeyed the command with gratifying promptness. They stood up, saluted; remained standing. Every pair of bright eyes was fixed on General Dean. Only one pair, however, betrayed curious speculation. Their owner had suddenly become canny. Miss Susanna decided the conspiracy was not against Mr. Dean, since he appeared to head it. Captain looked as though she knew all about it, too. The old lady concluded with affectionate vexation that it must be against herself.
General Dean had returned the salute. While the Army still remained at standing he went over to the Christmas tree and took from it a large, oval, canvas-wrapped object. He loosened the canvas wrapping, but did not remove it. Then he came forward with it and took up a position still well away from Miss Hamilton, but exactly opposite her.
As he faced the sturdy little figure in the chaise lounge his levity dropped from him. “Miss Susanna, the Eleven Travelers wish you a very merry Christmas,” he said, his tone impressive in its pleasant sincerity. “They have traveled far and wide in the country of College to find a fitting expression of their love for you. They now feel sure they have found the one thing under the sun which will please you most.”
A sudden swift movement of one hand and the enveloping canvas fell from the oval, plain gold setting of a portrait. Life size and wonderful from out of the oval frame smiled a lovely, familiar face. There was a life-like quality about the portrait of the beautiful girl in the violet-shaded evening frock, with the huge bunch of purple English violets pinned to the waist of her gown. It was so utterly natural as to wring a sharp emotional little “Ah-h-h!” from Miss Susanna. It claimed a united breath of admiration from the others as well.
“I’m going to—to—cry, Marvelous Manager,” quavered Miss Susanna. “I don’t—want—to—”
“Cry right on Marjorie’s shoulder.” Marjorie cuddled the old lady’s head against her breast. “Only I’d rather you laugh.”