Easter vacation brought Captain Dean to Hamilton Arms and tumultuous happiness to Marjorie’s heart. Greatly as she had come to love the Arms for its stately marvelous beauty and comfort, the loving devotion of Miss Susanna and the fact that it had been the home of Brooke Hamilton, she now loved it more strongly because it was graced by her adored captain’s presence.

Since the morning when she had read the journal of Brooke Hamilton she had not written another word of his biography. “I can’t write,” she plaintively complained to Miss Susanna. “Spring and Captain and Brooke Hamilton’s journal have all got into my brain and won’t be shoved back. I’ll have to get all over the strenuousness of them before I can go on writing.”

“I think I shall lock up the study for a while, anyway,” Miss Susanna threatened. “The Army owes a duty to its superior officer. I shall order Lieutenant Dean out on guide duty to Captain Dean. Ensign Hamilton and Corporal Macy will go along for company.”

“Corporal Macy.” Jerry elevated her nose in deep disgust. “I’m a lieutenant myself. Kindly remember it. An ensign doesn’t belong to the Army. An ensign belongs properly to the Navy.”

“I shall be the great exception,” persisted Miss Susanna, laughing. “Ensign sounds well with ‘Hamilton.’ It is not seemly for youth to scornfully contradict age.”

“First show me age,” retorted Jerry. “There ain’t no such animal around here.”

“I’m going to take Captain for a walk around the estate this morning,” Marjorie announced. “There are oceans of things I want to show her and talk about. Almost every bush or tree at the Arms has an interesting history, all its own. Ensign Hamilton and, ahem, Corporal Macy are cordially invited to join the walk around.”

“Lieutenant Macy doesn’t regret that she has an engagement with Major Jonas Kent to plant dahlias this morning. Major Kent is far more polite than certain other officers of the detachment of far lesser rank,” Jerry declined with significance.

“I ought to be, and I am, the happiest person in the world, I believe.” Marjorie later voiced this fervent opinion as she sat on a rustic bench between her Captain and Miss Hamilton.

The three had seated themselves in the sweet spring sunlight at indolent ease after a long ramble about the magnificently kept grounds of the Arms. Under their feet the young green grass wove a soft living carpet. Over their heads spread the iron-strong branches of a mammoth tulip tree.

“Just because I am so happy, every once in a while I think of Mr. Brooke, Miss Susanna. Then I grow sad for a little. How beautiful it would have been for Angela and him to live here year after year in the perfect happiness of love! I often wonder how he had the courage to go through so many weary years after she left him. He chose such a patient, brave-hearted way.”

“Perhaps he accomplished more of good because of such a sorrow than he might have wrought without it,” sighed Miss Hamilton. “From the time of Angela’s death he centered himself more than ever on the founding of Hamilton College. It might well be called a monument to the two women he loved. The nobility of plan and execution were inspired by his mother. But the beauty of nature which he cultivated and carried out with such rare taste and sentiment on the campus is his tribute to Angela. Day after day, early and late, he busied himself with enhancing the beauty of that overgrown grass plot. Perhaps his spirit communed with hers as he worked. This was before my time. You will find a packet of what he named, ‘My garden letters,’ among the data. If you haven’t already been over it, you have a joy in store for you.”

Miss Susanna stared absently out over the sea of living green splashed with the pale pinks, yellows and scarlets of early blooming shrubs. Mrs. Dean had taken no part in the conversation, preferring to listen. Marjorie’s wistful observation regarding Brooke Hamilton and Angela Vernon had raised a feeling of surprise in her mind. It was the most sentimental word she had ever heard Marjorie utter.

Since her arrival at the Arms she had been permitted by Miss Hamilton to read the journal over which she had heard the Lady of the Arms and her lieutenant have several long discussions. Jerry had also been permitted to read it. She had at first cried over it, then impatiently characterized stately Brooke Hamilton as a “lovable old stupid” for not “getting it across” first thing that Angela was in love with him.

“I have a perfectly celostrous idea, children.” Marjorie thus gaily designated the two beside her. “It came out of what you just said of Mr. Brooke and the campus.” She lightly clasped Miss Susanna’s arm. “I’ll put Mr. Brooke’s love idyl in ‘Realization,’ together with his nature work on the campus. That will do away with having to write of how he made Angela unhappy for so many years because he didn’t know he loved her. I will state only that they met first when very young, and without knowing their own hearts. I think I will keep the entry about her riding down to the station with the picture to say good-bye to him.” Marjorie turned to Miss Susanna, her eyes questioning.

“You are to do as you please, Marvelous Manager.” Miss Susanna smiled into the beautiful, colorful face so near her own. “If you wished to publish the journal verbatim, I’d not gainsay you.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Goldendede.” Marjorie returned the smile with interest. “I don’t wish him to be misunderstood. He was not intentionally selfish. He was simply wrapped in his own great dream. The world, were it to read that journal, might call him hard-hearted. Even he reproached himself after he found that he loved Angela. I will leave out anything that I should not care to say of him myself. I pledged friendship with him in the beginning, you remember.”

“I am glad you feel as I do about his love affair.” Miss Susanna said with a grateful little nod. “I have always thought mention of it, at least, important in a biography of him. I was not sure what to do. I had thought, at the time when I talked with President Burns of having it prepared for publication, of submitting only a brief paragraph or two about Angela Vernon. I leave the matter contentedly to you.”

“That’s enough to bring back my lost inspiration,” was the blithe declaration. “Come on, both of you.” Marjorie sprang to her feet. She stretched an inviting hand to both her mother and Miss Susanna. “I shall proceed to hustle you about the rest of the grounds before luncheon. I’m going to the study to work this afternoon. Don’t dare lock it up.” She laid energetic command upon Miss Hamilton.

“What’s to become of my sight-seeing tour?” doughtily demanded Miss Susanna.

“Corporal Macy will conduct it. Order her to it, and promise her a commission of major,” Marjorie merrily proposed.

“Yes, genius is really beginning to burn again,” Miss Susanna teasingly commented. “Jerry shall earn her commission.” As she spoke she had allowed Marjorie to pull her to her feet.

“Let’s walk down by the gate,” Marjorie proposed. “I wish Captain to see that wonderful Chinese white lilac bush that once grew in the royal Chinese gardens.”

They were not more than halfway across the space of lawn intervening between the rustic seat and the white, feathery plumed lilac bush when the eyes of all three picked up the trim lines of a small black roadster which had stopped at the entrance gates. There were two persons in the roadster. One of them, a tall, broad-shouldered man in gray tweeds and motor hat to match, was already out of the car. He had turned to give an assisting hand to a young woman who vaguely resembled him. She smiled happily at him as she stepped lightly to the ground. The two turned their backs on the car and approached the gates.

“It’s Leslie Cairns!” Marjorie said in a low, astounded tone.

“It’s—Can it be?” Miss Susanna shaded her eyes from the sun with a small, sturdy hand. “I believe it is—Peter Carden!”