“Who told you that?” demanded Marjorie.
“Chichester Barnard; I met him on my way here. By the way, he wished me to tell you he would not be able to go to Mrs. Marsh’s tea with you this afternoon on account of a business engagement,” he glanced curiously at her, but Marjorie was occupied in making bread pellets and it was several seconds before she spoke.
“Mrs. Lawrence is critically ill. The Admiral is constantly at her bedside, and he cannot attend to his book, so Aunt Yvonett,” looking gravely at her, “my services are not required.”
“I am glad that thee is to have a vacation,” replied the Quakeress; “but I am distressed to hear that Mrs. Lawrence is worse; she is a lovely woman, her husband can ill spare her.”
“You must come over and spend the day at my quarters, Cousin Yvonett, now that Madge has time at her disposal,” broke in Tom. “The drills are being held every Friday afternoon, and I know you enjoy them.”
“Thee is most kind, and if the weather permits we will come. Who was thy friend who came to the door with thee this morning, Thomas?”
“Joe Cooper. I didn’t bring him in, Cousin Yvonett, because, to be frank, I don’t fancy the fellow.”
“I thought he was quite nice,” announced Marjorie, arousing from her abstraction. “He is certainly most obliging.”
“Boot-licking,” with scornful emphasis.
“That’s hardly fair,” exclaimed Marjorie. “He had nothing to gain by being nice to me, and secondly, his father, J. Calhoun-Cooper, is a representative in Congress, and I am told, is very wealthy.”