“Moderately strong, one lump of sugar, and lemon,” replied Marjorie.
“Our tastes are similar; I hope it’s a good omen,” smiled Mrs. Fordyce. “Try some of these sandwiches.”
“How did you discover that I am the daughter of your old friend?” inquired Marjorie.
“Mrs. Nicholas McIntyre, who was at Emma Willard’s school at the same time your mother and I were boarders there, told me of you. She admires you greatly.”
“Bless her heart!” ejaculated Marjorie warmly. “She has been lovely to me since mother’s death. I didn’t know she had returned to Washington.”
“I don’t believe she has. I met her in New York just before coming here, and she advised me——” she broke off abruptly. “How old are you?”
“I have just passed my twenty-fourth birthday.”
“You don’t look a day over eighteen.” Mrs. Fordyce frowned perplexedly at the singing teakettle. “Mrs. McIntyre said you were private secretary to Admiral Lawrence....”
“I have been,” interrupted Marjorie, “but I am with him no longer.”
“Then you could come to me—but”—checking herself. “You are so young——”