“Oh, the gorgeous things!” gurgled Marjorie, as she lifted a great sheaf of long-stemmed pink rosebuds from the box. Her pale cheeks took color from the roses as she spied Hal’s card with a cheering message written underneath in his flowing, boyish hand. “He’s been such a comfort! Just as soon as I get well I’m going to have a little dance and invite all the boys.” Marjorie touched the fragrant token with a friendly hand. “Laurie sent me some violets yesterday. Those on the chiffonier.”
“He sent me some, too,” admitted Constance rather shyly.
“How strange!” dimpled Marjorie. “Oh, there’s the bell again! That surely must be Jerry!”
Before Constance was half way downstairs, Jerry was half way up, her broad face beaming, her arms laden with a large, round object, strangely resembling a cake.
“Oh, take it!” she gasped. “My arms are breaking.”
Constance coming to her rescue, the two girls soon made haven with Marjorie and a lively chattering began. Frequent alarms at the front door denoted steadily arriving guests and a little past two found Marjorie’s strictly informal reception in full swing, with girls tucked into every convenient corner of her room. Her own particular chums, including Ellen Seymour and Esther Lind, were all there. Even Susan and Muriel, who had been busy getting well while she lay ill, were able to be present. Lucy Warner was also among the happy throng, a trifle shy, but with a new look of gentleness in her green eyes and a glad little smile on her somber face.
Mignon appeared, but did not stay to the merry-making. She was full of polite sympathy and apparently bent on doing the agreeable. But in her black eyes lay a curious, furtive expression, which Marjorie mentally decided made her look more than ever like the Evil Genius. After a sojourn of perhaps twenty minutes, during which she walked about restlessly from girl to girl, exchanging commonplaces, she pleaded an engagement and took her leave.
Her presence somewhat of a strain, her departure was not mourned. Now wholly congenial, the party dropped all reserve and became exceedingly hilarious. Despite Mrs. Dean’s protests, they had insisted on bringing their own refreshments, and later on Marjorie’s pink-and-white house was turned into a veritable picnic ground. Jerry’s weighty contribution turned out to be an immense many-layered cake, thickly iced and decorated. “A regular whale of a cake,” she styled it, and no one contradicted her. After the luncheon had been eaten to the ceaseless buzz of girlish voices, each trying to out-talk the other, the company proceeded further to amuse the lovely convalescent with various funny little stunts at their command.
“Girls,” at last reminded thoughtful Irma, “it is after four o’clock. We mustn’t tire Marjorie out. I move we go downstairs to the living room and lift up our voices for her benefit in a good, old-fashioned song. Then we’ll come back, say good-bye and run home.”
The wisdom of Irma’s proposal conceded, the singers trooped downstairs. Presently, through the open door, the sound of their clear, young voices came up to her as she lay back listening, a bright smile irradiating her delicate features. It was so beautiful to know that others cared so much about making her happy. She had so many things to be thankful for.