Miss Archer bowed him out, feeling sorry rather than displeased with the big, blustering man whom fatherly love had blinded to his daughter’s faults. She wondered when, if ever, his eyes would be opened. Under what circumstances would he awaken to full knowledge of the real Rowena?
CHAPTER XXVII—THE FIRST DUTY OF A SOLDIER
“And we can have the party in her room? Oh, fine! You’re awfully dear, Mrs. Dean. We’ll be there at two this afternoon. Good-bye.” Jerry Macy hung up the telephone receiver and did an energetic dance about the hall.
“Training for the Russian Ballet?” asked Hal, as, emerging from the breakfast room, he beheld Jerry in the midst of her weird dance.
“No, you goose. I’m doing a dance of rejoicing. Marjorie’s well enough to see us. We are going to have a party for her this afternoon.”
“You are a lovely girl, Jerry, and you dance beautifully.” Hal became suddenly ingratiating. “Am I invited to the party?”
“Certainly not. It’s an exclusive affair; no boys allowed. You may send Marjorie some flowers, though. You’ve only sent them twice this week.”
“I’ll do it. What time is the party?”
“Two o’clock. Get them at Braley’s. That’s the nicest place.” Jerry was obliged to shout this last after Hal, as, seizing his cap and coat, he raced out the front door.
Over two weeks had elapsed since the Thursday morning which had marked the downfall of basket ball. During that time, Marjorie had lain in her dainty pink-and-white bed, impatiently wondering if she were ever going to get well. But one thing had helped to make her trying illness endurable. Never before had she realized that she had so many friends. Her pretty “house” looked like a florist’s shop and her willow table was piled with offerings of fruit and confectionery sent her by her devoted followers. Every day the mail brought her relays of cheery letters, the burden of which was invariably, “You must hurry and get well.”