Marjorie could never quite recall the details of that dreadful walk home. Only once before in her short life had she been so utterly crushed. That was on the day she had rushed from the little gray house, believing that her beloved Constance was a thief. Now it came back to her with force. Just as she had felt on that terrible afternoon, so must Miss Archer be feeling now. Miss Archer thought that she, Marjorie Dean, was unworthy to be a pupil of Sanford High. “If only Miss Archer had listened to me,” surged through her troubled brain as she walked the seemingly endless road home. What would Captain and General say?
Yet with this thought a gleam of daylight pierced the dark. Her Captain already knew all. She knew her daughter to be innocent of wrongdoing. General would believe in her, too. They would not see her thus disgraced without a hearing. She would yet be able to prove to Miss Archer that she was blameless of such dishonesty.
“Well, well!” She had mounted the steps of her home when a cheery voice thus called out to her. The next instant she was in her father’s arms. Delight in seeing him, coupled with all she had just undergone, broke down the difficult composure she had managed to maintain while in Miss Archer’s presence. With a little sob, Marjorie threw herself into her father’s arms, pillowing her curly head against his comforting shoulder.
“My dear child, what has happened?” Mrs. Dean regarded her daughter’s shaking shoulders with patient anxiety as she cried out the startled question.
“There, there, Lieutenant.” Mr. Dean gathered the weeping girl close in his protecting arms. “Surely you aren’t crying because your worthy general has come home?”
“No-o-o,” came the muffled protest. “I’m—glad. It’s—not—that. I’ve—been—suspended—from—school.”
“What!” Mr. Dean raised the weeper’s head from his shoulders and gazed deep into the overflowing brown eyes.
“It’s true,” gulped Marjorie. “I’m not—to—blame—though. It’s all—a—misunderstanding.”
“Then we’ll straighten it out,” soothed Mr. Dean. “Come, now. You and Captain and I will go into the living room and sit right down on the nice comfy davenport. Then you can wail your troubles into our sympathetic ears. Your superior officers will stand by you. You take one arm, Captain, and I’ll take the other.”
Resigning herself to the guidance of those who loved her best, Marjorie suffered herself to be led into the living room and deposited on the friendly davenport, a solicitous parent on either side.