“Oh, Captain, I’m so glad you came to the rescue! I was so lonely! You asked me when last I heard from Jerry. Why, it’s almost two weeks. She wrote me it was awfully hot at the beach and—Are you going to stay here awhile and talk to me, Captain?”
Marjorie interrupted herself with this question. Her downcast face had begun to brighten.
“If you are,” she continued, “I’ll run up to my house and get Jerry’s last letter. I’d love to read it to you.”
“I’ll oblige you by staying awhile.” Mrs. Dean sat down in her own particular wicker rocker, her eyes resting fondly on Marjorie.
“You’re a dear. Be back in a minute.” A rush of light feet on the stairs proclaimed that Marjorie had gone to her “house,” as she chose to call her pretty pink and white room, for her letter.
“I can’t find it,” presently announced a disappointed voice from above stairs. “Have you seen a square gray envelope with large writing on it anywhere in the living room, Captain?”
“I am looking straight at one now,” came the reassuring information. “You left it on the mantelpiece, Lieutenant.”
“Oh, thank you.” A moment and Marjorie was heard making a vigorous descent of the stairs.
“I came down stairs at a positive gallop,” she said lightly, as she crossed the room and secured her letter. “I was afraid I had left it in the table drawer in the pagoda. If I had, that would have meant a wading trip for me. I suppose I’d have gone after it, but I am glad it’s here.”
“You are overflowing with repressed energy, Marjorie,” Mrs. Dean said, looking a trifle anxious. “I wonder if a quiet summer at home has really been best for you. While there is no place I know more comfortable than our own home, the change would have been beneficial to you. I believe we should have spent, at least, two weeks at the beach or in the mountains.”