“Oh, Captain, forgive me!” she cried out in contrition. It was unusual to see tears in her mother’s soft eyes. “I’m a nice kind of soldier!”
“No harm done,” was the tender response. “This little tear shower was bound to fall, sooner or later. I am all right now.” Her mother’s wavering smile steadied itself.
“I’ve tried to keep away from the sad side of going away to college,” Marjorie said somberly, “but how many girls are there who have the dear beautiful home life that I have? And this summer alone with you! It’s been great happiness and sadness all jumbled together. Every once in awhile when I am very happy, I suddenly remember that there’s a shadow. I have to stop for a minute to think what it is. Then I know—I am going away from my captain before long.”
“You must also stop to remember that you can’t go through life only half educated,” practically reminded Mrs. Dean, with a view toward lightening the lieutenant’s pessimistic views. “At least, General and I do not propose that you shall. Suppose you wished more than all else to go through college and we could not afford to send you? That would really be a case for lamentation.”
“I’ve thought of all that,” Marjorie returned soberly. “I know it is splendid that I have the opportunity. I am thankful for all my benefits, truly I am. I ought to be glad I haven’t Lucy Warner’s problem to solve.”
“I don’t believe either General or I could truly accuse you of being ungrateful.” Mrs. Dean smiled down upon the flushed face so near her own. “Do you think Lucy Warner will try to enter Hamilton College this fall?” She asked this question with a double object in view. First, to take Marjorie’s mind off herself. While on the subject of college, she wished also to draw from Marjorie, if possible, Lucy’s present attitude toward the world in general. When, occasionally, Marjorie had entertained Lucy at the house that summer at luncheon or dinner, Mrs. Dean had accorded her the same friendly courtesy she would have extended to Jerry or Muriel. She had never quite forgiven Lucy for the unhappiness she had caused Marjorie during both her junior and senior years at high school. She had not yet come to a point where she could repose faith in the odd, green-eyed girl of whom Marjorie had grown so fond.
“She would like to, but she is worried about the expenses. They are so high at Hamilton.” Marjorie’s face clouded momentarily. “She could draw whatever sum of money she needs from the Lookouts’ treasury, but she won’t. I may tell you, Captain, but no one else—Lucy feels dreadfully yet, over that misunderstanding we had last year. She blames herself for not having believed in me. She says the other girls would not have doubted me, and she had no right to be so hard on me. She thinks she isn’t worthy of help from the club. She told me this, privately, because she felt it was my right to know.”
Mrs. Dean’s long-harbored sense of injury against Lucy Warner took sudden flight. She understood at last the peculiar girl’s innate honesty of character, and could not do else than respect her for her drastic stand.
“Lucy feels afraid she may not find any kind of work at Hamilton to help her out with her personal expenses,” Marjorie continued. “She can tutor in either Latin or mathematics. She has saved nearly two hundred dollars from her work last year and this summer. If she should enter Hamilton this fall her mother will do practical nursing. Then she will be earning quite a good deal of money and she won’t be so lonely. That’s the way things are with Lucy. I wish she would enter college with the rest of us. It would be easier for her and nice for us to be freshmen together.”
“Would Lucy accept financial help from you? You may offer it to her if you think best, Lieutenant.” Mrs. Dean’s generous proposal arose from a relieved mind. She could make it with absolute freedom of spirit.