Coming opposite to Hamilton Arms, Marjorie forgot her impatience as her eyes eagerly took in the estate she so greatly admired. The chrysanthemums had begun to throw out luxuriant bloom in border and bed, while the bronze and scarlet of fallen leaves lay lightly on the short-cropped grass.
Almost opposite the point where Hamilton Arms adjoined the next estate, Marjorie spied a small, familiar figure trotting along at the left of the highway. It was Miss Susanna Hamilton. In one hand she carried a good-sized splint basket from which nodded a colorful wealth of chrysanthemums in little individual flower pots. She was bare-headed, though over her black silk dress she wore the knitted scarlet shawl which gave her the odd likeness to a lively old robin.
Marjorie leaned forward a trifle as the machine came opposite Miss Susanna. She viewed the last of the Hamiltons with kindly, non-curious eyes. The taxicab had almost slid past the sturdy pedestrian when something happened. The handle of the splint basket treacherously gave way, landing the basket on the ground with force. It tipped side-ways. Two or three of the flower pots rolled out of it.
Forgetting everything but the mishap to Brooke Hamilton’s eccentric descendant, Marjorie called out on impulse: “Driver; please stop the taxi! I wish to get out here!”
CHAPTER VI—THE LAST OF THE HAMILTONS
The man promptly brought the machine to a slow stop. He was too well acquainted with the whims of “them girls from the college” to exhibit surprise. Having paid her fare on entering the taxicab, Marjorie now quitted it with alacrity and ran back to the scene of the mishap.
“Please let me help you,” she offered in a gracious fashion which came straight from her heart. “I saw the handle of that basket break and I made the driver stop and let me out of the taxi.”
Without waiting for Miss Susanna’s permission, Marjorie stooped and lay hold on one of the scattered flower pots. Thus far the old lady had made no effort to gather them in. She had stood eyeing the unstable basket with marked disgust.
“And who are you, may I ask?” The brisk manner of question reminded Marjorie of Miss Remson.
“Oh, I am Marjorie Dean from Hamilton College,” Marjorie said, straightening up with a smile.