“Right face. Forward march to the end of the room,” ordered General Dean, gently holding Marjorie off from him. “Your distinguished captain and I can’t judge your fine feathers at such close range.”
Marjorie obediently paraded the length of the room and back, a vision of youthful enchantment. The pale yellow of her satin gown brought out vividly her dark hair and starry eyes. She had once given Connie a blue gown. This time Connie had been the donor. She had also insisted on furnishing even the white velvet evening coat, lined with the same satin as Marjorie’s frock, along with the other accessories of the costume. It lay across a chair, waiting for its lovely wearer. On the center table reposed a huge cluster of yellow chrysanthemums, tied with pale satin ribbon.
“Break ranks. Time for the gallant army to move on.” Mr. Dean consulted his watch.
“You didn’t say what you thought of my frock,” Marjorie reminded.
“I dare not. I have no desire to encourage vanity in my own child. Besides, soldiers don’t wear frocks. They wear uniforms,” teased Mr. Dean.
“Much obliged,” Marjorie nodded saucy thanks. “I mean for the compliment. It was a compliment, even though obscure.”
“You are so welcome,” gushed Mr. Dean. “Let me offer the army my arms.” He politely crooked his elbows to his wife and daughter.
Laughing, the two accepted his gallant offer, and the trio swept grandly from the living room.
“Captain deserves a whole lot of compliments,” Marjorie declared as they walked down the drive three abreast to the limousine. “She looks so beautiful tonight!”
“I had already observed that fact,” returned her general, his eyes admiringly resting on his wife. Always a beautiful woman, Mrs. Dean was particularly distinctive in the white lace gown she was wearing. “You haven’t complimented me yet,” he pointedly added.