“I’ll answer that question when I come back from Baretti’s. I’m sure that is what Signor Baretti wishes to talk about.” Marjorie had that morning received a note from the Italian asking her and Robin to come to the restaurant at three o’clock that afternoon. “Bye, Jeremiah. See you later. Truly I’ll be back to dinner.”
She encountered Robin when within a few steps of the inn looking her prettiest in a mink-trimmed suit of brown and the smartest of mink hats.
“Such magnificence!” Marjorie exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me there was to be a display of fashion on the campus this P. M.?”
“Didn’t know it myself until I went over to the Hall after I left the Biology laboratory this afternoon. There I found a big box on purpose for Robin. I ordered this suit in New York just before I came back to Hamilton. I had to write two hurry-up letters to the tailor about it, but—here it is at last.” Robin took a jaunty step or two ahead of Marjorie better to display her new costume.
“It’s a work of art,” Marjorie smilingly told her with her ready graciousness. “Guiseppe won’t realize that I’m present when you burst upon him in all your glory.”
“Well—not quite so bad as that,” Robin disagreed, chuckling. “He’ll probably say, first thing, that if you had been here the busses wouldn’t have stopped running.”
“That’ll do. I think we’re even now.” Marjorie’s eyes were dancing. She was a lovely picture of blooming girlhood, the dark green of her long coat with its wide collar and bands of black fox bringing out more fully the apple blossom tint of her rounded cheeks.
“So, Miss Dean, you come back again. I am glad.” Baretti had hastened from the far end of the room to greet his callers. “You have the nice time at home? Your father and mother, they are well?” he asked with polite interest. “I think I never know before two such nices ones as your father, your mother.” The Italian had been introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Dean during the previous June when they had come to Hamilton to attend the Commencement exercises.
“They are very well, thank you, Signor Baretti. I have brought back their best wishes to you. They especially asked me to tell you that they appreciated your message to them.” The innkeeper had sent them a message of good will in his sincere, if broken English.
“That is good; verra good for me. When you write the letter, perhaps you have the time say my good wishes once more to them,” he asked, slightly hesitant. “Now come, both of you. I have the fine maple mousse today. My Italiano boys in the kitchen make. None can make better than these.”