“General Dean.”
“It’s a surprise,” nodded Marjorie. “I know it is. Very well, I’ll show him that I’m not a bit curious. I’ll tell him, though, that it’s not fair to threaten a soldier. Do you know what it’s about, Captain?”
“No; I am equally in the dark. I wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” Mrs. Dean answered teasingly.
“I wouldn’t let you,” retorted Marjorie. “I have to be loyal to my orders. Now I’ll read Mary’s letter and then go and answer it. If I don’t answer it now I might put it off.”
Laying the three notes aside, she busied herself with the long letter from Mary, reading it aloud with numerous exclamations and comments. True to her word, she made no mention to her father of his letter. Delighting to tease her, he hinted broadly concerning it, but failed to draw Marjorie into questioning him.
Nevertheless, it was a most curious young woman who entered his office the following afternoon at the exact moment of appointment. Her curiosity was lost in wide-eyed amazement as she saw that he was not alone. Seated in a chair beside his desk was a stout, dark man of middle age, whose restless, black eyes and small, dark mustache bespoke the foreigner. But this was not the cause of her astonishment. It lay in the fact that the man was Mignon La Salle’s father. Both men rose as she entered, Mr. La Salle bowing to her in the graceful fashion of the Frenchman.
“Sit here, Lieutenant. Mr. La Salle wishes to talk with you. He is kind enough to allow me to be present at the conference.”
“Miss Marjorie, I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before to-day. It is a very great pleasure. I have already thanked your father for his kindness to my daughter several evenings since. Now I must thank you, too. But I wish also to ask a far greater favor. My daughter, Mignon,” he paused as though at a loss to proceed, “is a somewhat peculiar girl. For many years she has had no mother.” He sighed, then continuing, “I wish her to be all that is good and fine. But I am a busy man. I cannot take time to be with her as I would desire. From my friend Harold Macy I have heard many pleasant things of you and your friends. So I have thought that it might be well to ask you if you——” Again he paused, his black eyes riveted on Marjorie, “if you will take an interest in my daughter, so that I may feel that her associates are of the best.
“I regret greatly her friendship with Miss Farnham. But that is past. She has told me all, and I have forbidden their further intimacy. Perhaps you are already the friend of my Mignon? If so, it is, indeed, well. If not, may I hope that you will soon become such, indeed?” There was a trace of pleading in his carefully enunciated speech with its slightly foreign accent.
A queer, choking sensation gripped Marjorie’s throat. She was immeasurably touched. Happy in her General’s love, she glimpsed something of the tender motive, which had actuated this stern man of business to plead for his daughter’s welfare.