Without stopping to make further explanation, Marjorie rushed to the front door to welcome the last person she had expected to see on that stormy morning, Veronica Lynne.
CHAPTER III.—THE REAL RONNY.
“Ronny Lynne, who would have expected to see you?” rejoiced Marjorie. “I can’t believe my own eyes.” Two welcoming arms embraced the beloved visitor, regardless of her dripping rain coat.
“Oh, I know I’m the great unexpected,” laughed Veronica, warmly returning Marjorie’s embrace. “Now break away, reckless child, before you are quite as wet as I. See what you get for hugging a rushing rivulet. Oh, Marjorie Dean, but I’m glad to see you! I can’t begin to tell you how much I have missed you. I received your letter and meant to answer at once. Then I——”
Veronica broke off in her abrupt fashion. This time it was to greet Mrs. Dean, who, after leaving the two girls together during the first enthusiasm of meeting had now come forward to welcome Ronny.
“A bad day for traveling, but a happy one for us,” she said, as she affectionately kissed Miss Archer’s God-child. “Help Ronny out of that wet rain coat, Lieutenant. Better go straight upstairs with Marjorie, Veronica. She will soon make you comfortable with one of her negligees and house slippers. I will bring you a cup of consommé. I know you must be hungry.”
“I am hungry, and I would love to dress up in some of Marjorie’s clothes,” Ronny made reply. Marjorie was already busy undoing the buttons of her friend’s coat.
“Come right along upstairs then,” Marjorie invited. “I’ll soon have you fixed all nice and comfy. I am so happy, Ronny. I’ve been thinking of you as away off in California, and here you have been hustling across the continent to visit me.”
“And all the time I have been congratulating myself on the blessed fact that I would really have a chance to be chummy with you when I finally arrived,” exulted Ronny, as she ran lightly up the wide open staircase behind her hostess. Mrs. Dean had already hurried kitchenward to see to the consommé.
“We will be the best chums ever!” Pausing on the top step, Marjorie stretched forth a hand. “Welcome to my house and heart,” she said. Tucking her friend’s hand within her arms she drew her down a short hall and into her own particular domain. The door of Marjorie’s “house” stood open as though hospitably awaiting the arrival of the guest. Its dainty pink and whiteness shed a light and beauty, infinitely cheering on a dark day.