“I won’t qualify for the early bird class in the morning, I’m afraid,” Marjorie said with the merest suspicion of a smile. “Never mind; I’m going to get up early even if I do lose some sleep.”
“Was that what made you look so sober as you came in, Lieutenant?” Mrs. Dean asked, amused surprise in the question.
“Did I look very sober?” Marjorie quickly countered.
“Very,” emphasized her mother.
“Well,” Marjorie paused, “I felt sober. Where’s General, Captain?” She glanced questioningly toward the next room.
“He and Mr. Macy motored down to Logan Beach this evening to see a game of chess between two expert players, both friends of Mr. Macy’s. He’ll hardly be home before midnight.” Mrs. Dean continued affectionately to watch Marjorie.
“Oh-h-h.” Marjorie dropped down on a low chair. For a moment she sat plaiting little folds in the soft white evening scarf, now fallen into careless disarrangement across one shoulder. “Oh,” she said again. “Er-oh, dear! I’ve something to report, Captain. I wish I hadn’t. I couldn’t report it to General as I can to you. It’s about Hal. He’s going to ask me to marry him. I wish he wouldn’t.”
The vehemence with which Marjorie voiced the disquieting report brought a shadowy flash of concern to her mother’s face. It faded instantly into a distinctly humorous expression.
“How do you know Hal is going to ask you to marry him?” she quizzed, her eyes twinkling. “You’ve heard the old sad tale of Miss Betty Baxter who refused Captain Jones before he axed her.”
“Oh-h, Captain!” Marjorie made a laughing open-armed rush at her mother. “Stop making fun of me. My case isn’t a bit like silly Miss Betty Baxter’s. What an idiotic person she must have been! You see, dearest,” she slid an arm about her mother’s neck. “Why—Hal——” Her color mounted to her white forehead—“began to ask me down on the beach tonight. Then Danny and Jerry came up to us. They didn’t know what he was saying to me, of course. He surprised me, too.”