“and I don’t – want – to. Please – I – don’t think – I – deserve – ”
“I would advise you not to weep, Marjorie, or you may be treated as I was,” warned Danny’s bland tones. “It’s not safe to sob around here.”
Marjorie gave a half tremulous giggle that was the forerunner of recovery. Her tears checked, her hands trembled as she opened the white velvet box. Then her emotion became that of sheer wonder. Resting on its satin bed gleamed a string of graduated pearls from which hung a pearl pendant in the form of a bowknot.
“What made you do this?” she faltered. “It isn’t I who have ever done anything to make you happy. It’s you who have done everything to make me happy. I don’t know what to say, only you are all so dear to me and thank you.”
Constance standing beside Marjorie, an arm over her shoulder, Marjorie turned and childishly hid her flushed face in the frills of Connie’s white organdie gown. While her thoughts were far from collected, she was experiencing a gladness of spirit because Constance could thus be her refuge at a time of overwhelming happiness.
CHAPTER VII. – ON THE THRESHOLD
The day after Constance’s party brought Marjorie her General. With her father at home, after a lengthy absence, the sorrow of leaving her dear ones came forward again. Marjorie tried earnestly to keep all locked within and succeeded in a measure. Her General was not blind to the situation, however, and exerted himself on all occasions to keep his somewhat sober-faced lieutenant in good spirits.
On the morning of the day before Marjorie’s departure for college, he announced his firm intention to help her pack. Nor did he swerve for an instant from his self-imposed duty. Breakfast over, he chased the lieutenant, screaming with laughter, up the stairs, landing in the middle of her “house” with a flying leap which an acrobat might have envied.
Regardless of his giggling daughter’s ideas on the subject of packing, he swept down upon whatever lay nearest at hand and stowed it into one of the two open trunks. His efforts at being helpful were brief. Three determined pairs of hands intercepted his bold attempt to safely caché a small taboret, a large embroidered doyley, a satin chair cushion, a cut glass scent bottle and a Japanese vase. The energetic general’s services were summarily dispensed with. He was banished from the room and the door shut in his face with a bang. In less than fifteen minutes he announced his return by a tattoo which threatened demolishment to the door. He was not re-admitted until he had given his word not to meddle with the packing. When Marjorie cautiously opened the door to him she found him staggering under a load of pasteboard boxes. He dumped them at her feet with a bow so profound that he all but stood on his head.
“There you are, unfeeling child!” he exclaimed. “How shocking to have a daughter who doesn’t scruple to turn her poor old father out of her house!”
“Well, I let you into my house again, didn’t I? Just please recall why you were turned out.” Marjorie clasped both arms about her father’s neck and swung on him gleefully. No one could be the least bit sad when General elected to be funny. Mrs. Dean and Ronny had already busied themselves with straightening the pile of boxes which had scattered when dumped to the floor.
“It’s a good thing for you that you did,” retorted Mr. Dean significantly. “I might have gone away from the door and never NEVER have come back again. Then think what you would have missed.”
“Oh, you would have had to come back sometime,” was the serene assurance, as Marjorie plumped down on the floor to explore her newly-acquired riches.
They were all the heart of a girl could wish. One box contained a white chiffon evening scarf, thickly embroidered with tiny pink daisies. It draped itself in graceful folds to the waist, the ends reaching to the hem of her gown. Another held a white velour sports coat, the cut and design of it being particularly smart. From another box tumbled a dozen pairs of kid gloves. There was also a box of silk hosiery, another of fine linen handkerchiefs with butterfly and bowknot corners, her favorite designs, a box of engraved monogrammed stationery, and a pair of black satin evening slippers.
One long wide box she had left until the last. The lid removed and the folds of white tissue paper lifted, Marjorie breathed a little “Oh!” She stared in admiration at an exquisite evening frock of delicately shaded Chinese crêpe. It might have represented a spring dawn, shading as it did from creamy white to pale, indeterminate violet, and from violet to faintest pink. It was fashioned with a cunning simplicity of design which made it of the mode, yet strikingly individual. About the hem of the skirt, around the square neck and short sleeves and on the ends of the separate sash trailed shadowy clusters of violets, stamped upon the crêpe with an art known only to the Chinese.
“Where did you find it, General?” she gasped, as she held up the lovely, shimmering frock for her captain and Ronny to see. “I never expected to own a dream gown like this.”
“It is a spring poem in shades,” declared Ronny, lightly touching an end of the sash. “I can guess where it came from. Only a high-grade Chinese bazaar could furnish a gown of its kind. There are a few such shops west of the Mississippi. I never saw a gown so beautiful as this one even in San Francisco.”
“It did not come from a shop. A Chinese merchant sent to China for it as a gift to Marjorie. In Denver I have a good friend, Mah Waeo, the last of an ancient Chinese house. He looks like an Eastern nobleman in carved ivory. He is a fine elderly man of irreproachable business and social reputation. He is a tea merchant and has great wealth. He lives very simply and spends most of his business gains in trying to educate and uplift his own people. We have been fast friends for fifteen years.”
“I am familiar with that type of Chinese,” Ronny spoke eagerly. “At home, Father and I have a good Chinese friend, too; Sieguf Tah. He lives alone on the smallest of his fruit ranches and acts as a benevolent father to all the China boys around there. The China boys, as they like to be called, are faithful, wise, intelligent and industrious. Best of all, they are strictly honest.”
“I hope Mah Waeo will sometime make us a visit. I suppose you must have often invited him, General. He was a perfect dear to take such pains for a present for me.” Marjorie raised a radiant face to her father. “All this is about the nicest surprise you ever gave me. I can’t help liking my spring poem gown best of all. I shall write to Mah Waeo and tell him so and ask him myself to please make us a visit someday.”
“I don’t see how we are going to pack all these new treasures in your two trunks,” Mrs. Dean practically interposed. “We shall have to do some skilful managing.”
“They simply all must go,” decreed Marjorie. “I couldn’t leave one behind.”
“Which reminds me that I have something for you and Captain which I brought from the Golden West and have been saving until an appropriate, moment. With your gracious permission, I will retire and return anon, as the old-style novelists loved to write.”
Attired in a full, half-fitted morning gown of soft white silk, Ronny spread her arms, bowed down to the floor, East Indian fashion, and made a quick backward exit from the room.
“I am going to make Ronny dance for us tonight,” planned Marjorie. “She isn’t going to pack that frock she has on. It will be a perfect dancing costume. We will have a little home party tonight; just the four of us. No; five. I want Delia to be with us, too. I’ve grown up under Delia’s wing. She has always worked so hard to do her best for me whenever I have had a party, and she’s been so good to me in all ways.”
“By all means let us have Delia at our party,” heartily indorsed Mr. Dean. “I shall ask her to dance the minuet with
