"Well, an old friend of mine in London, who knows your uncle, and met your father long ago, said to me, 'A fine fellow was Hugh Davidson. I always feel that he may turn up again some day.'"
Mrs. Forester did not repeat other words said at the same time—namely, that "Hunter was always jealous, and would see no good in him;" but she felt justified in telling Marjory what she did, for she well knew how the girl would treasure the words, and how they might often comfort and encourage her.
"Oh! that is good," said Marjory. "I do thank you for telling me." And she squeezed her friend's hand.
"Now you must try to be very patient and hopeful. If God sees fit, be sure that He will give your father to you for your very own some day. In the meantime you must do all you can to be the sort of girl that a father would be proud of; and, Marjory, I have been thinking that your uncle might say the same of you as you do of him. You are fond of him, really, aren't you?"
"Yes, of course," assented Marjory.
"Well, do you ever tell him so?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Oh, I shouldn't dare to."
"Nonsense! I suppose you would quite like it if he were to put his arms round you and call you his dear little Marjory?"