“No, neither,” said Marion, laughing, “but they all think you are dead, Bert. That letter of mine to Matt Jenkins, telling him of your death, was accepted by them all, in spite of the made-up signature.”
“You did me a big favor when you wrote that letter, Marion,” said Bert, quickly, “and I’ll never forget it if I live to be a hundred; but see here, I’ve got some news for you that will make your eyes stick out! There is a personal in the paper for Ila de Parloa, the singer.”
He held out a scrap of paper toward Marion as he spoke, and the girl’s face flushed and paled alternately as she read it.
“A manager of some theatrical troupe wants my address,” she said to Dollie. “He tried to get it from the manager of that concert hall where I sang, but old Vandergrift was so mad that he wouldn’t give it to him.”
“I’ll bet there’s lots of them that want you, and that will give you a good price, too, Marion,” said Bert Jackson, eagerly. “If you say so, I’ll look this up and see what there is in it.”
“Wait a minute—let me think,” said the fair girl, slowly; then she shook her head with a decided motion. “No, I will not listen to their offers at present,” she said, emphatically. “I am to enter Charity Hospital as a nurse next Monday. It is a noble profession, and I feel, some way, that I am called to it.”
CHAPTER VI.
TESTING A LOVER.
Marion had ample opportunity to observe George Colebrook in the next two days, for Miss Allyn was furnishing her little flat, and her fiancé was assiduous in his attentions to her.
“I’m a little puzzled about George,” Miss Allyn confided to Marion as they were busily arranging and rearranging the new furniture.