Vassar seized the letter and read with a broad grin. The handwriting was absurdly delicate. The idea that a suffragette could have written it was ridiculous!
My dear Mr. Vassar:
I’m heartily ashamed of myself for losing my temper last night. Please call for me at ten o’clock. I wish a little heart-to-heart talk before we go to your Flag Festival. Please answer by the bearer.
Virginia Holland.
Vassar drew Marya into his arms and kissed her rapturously.
“You’re an angel—you’ve brought me a message from the skies. Run now and tell the big black man—Miss Holland’s butler—to thank her for me and say that I’ll be there promptly at ten. Run, darling! Run!”
The child refused to stir without another kiss which she repeated on both his cheeks. She stopped at the door and waved another.
“Hurry, Uncle John—please—we’re all starved.”
“Down in five minutes!” he cried.
The weariness of the night’s fitful sleep was gone. The world was suddenly filled with light and music.