When she started out for the office the sky had looked threatening. Before she reached home it had begun to rain, and by dinner time a heavy downpour had set in that bade fair to keep up steadily all evening. Not to be thus easily disheartened, Marjorie waited until almost eight o’clock, then announced her determination to go at any rate.
“Then I shall go with you,” decided her mother. “You shall not go alone to Mignon’s house. We will drive in the automobile. There is a poor woman who lives near the La Salles on whom I ought to call. I will stop at her home and wait for you there while you make your plea to Mr. La Salle.”
This was highly satisfactory to Marjorie. A few minutes later, prepared to face the storm, Marjorie and her captain had repaired to the Deans’ small garage at the back of the house for the automobile, and were soon driving through the rain on their double errand of mercy.
“You needn’t bother to take me the rest of the way, Captain,” assured Marjorie, as they neared the shabby little house where Mrs. Dean was to make her call. “It’s only a block. I’ll run fast and hardly get wet. My hat and raincoat will stand the bad weather.”
“Suit yourself,” smiled her mother as Marjorie skipped lightly out of the car. “Don’t be too long, dear. I will wait for you, but try to come back within the half hour.”
“Always obey your superior officer.” Her hand to her soft felt hat, Marjorie made jaunty salute. Then she flitted on up the street and was soon lost in the blackness of the night.
Her mind on her errand, she hurried along, paying small attention to the discomfort of the falling rain. The La Salle estate, which occupied half a block, lay just around a corner from the place where she had alighted. Her head bent, she made the turn just in time to collide sharply with a pedestrian who was approaching on a run from the opposite direction. The force of the collision sent a suitcase that the latter was carrying to the sidewalk.
“I beg your pardon,” began Marjorie. “Did I——”
“Why don’t you look where you’re going?” demanded an angry voice, as the owner of the suitcase stooped to recover it.
At sound of the familiar tones, Marjorie cried out: “Mignon La Salle! Why, Mignon, you are the last person I expected to see on such a night.” Pausing, she regarded the still stooping girl in pure astonishment. To meet Mignon hurrying along on foot through the rain, minus an umbrella and burdened with a suitcase struck her as being decidedly peculiar.