There was a mist of tears in Mollie’s eyes. “How do I know? I haven’t seen him for years. Maybe he doesn’t—any longer——”
The girl protested vigorously. “Don’t you know him better’n that? Of course he does. You’ll see.”
The pent-up secret of Mollie’s heart came out tremulously. “I sent him away. I told him to forget me. Men don’t remember always—like we women do.”
Vicky took active charge of the campaign. “I’ll tell you what, Sister Mollie. You put on that blue-print dress, the one with the flowered pattern—an’ lemme fix your hair—an’ when you see him forget every single thing except how glad you are to see him.”
Light-footed and swift, Vicky moved about the room making ready for the transformation of her sister. She was a girl given at times to silences, but just now she was voluble as a magpie. Her purpose was to divert Mollie’s thoughts from herself for the present.
After the flowered dress had been donned and the soft thick hair arranged to Vicky’s satisfaction, that young lady stood back and clapped her hands. “Come into the parlour and look at the sweetest and prettiest thing in Carson,” she cried, catching her sister’s hand and dragging her forward. “If Colonel McClintock doesn’t think you’re just dear, it’ll be because he’s gone blind.”
Mollie took one look in the glass, then caught at the sideboard to steady herself. For a voice from the doorway answered Vicky’s prophecy.
“He does think so, just as he always has.”
Scot came across the room in three long strides and swept Mollie into his arms. The breath of life flooded her cheeks and flung out a flag of joy. Her soldier had come home from the wars. He still wanted her.
“You’ve heard,” she cried.