“Four letters for you, Lieutenant. Hunt them,” decreed Mrs. Dean, as Marjorie burst into the living room, her cheeks rosy from the nipping kisses of the winter air.

“Oh, I know where they are.” Jubilantly overturning the contents of her mother’s sewing basket, she triumphantly drew them forth. Without bothering to remove her wraps she plumped down at her mother’s feet to revel in her spoils.

“Here’s one from Mary. I’ll read that last. Here’s one from Harriet.” Opening it she read it through and passed it to her mother. “Harriet’s almost well again. Isn’t that good news? Why——” she had opened the next—“it’s from Mignon; a little note of thanks. Oh, Captain!” she stared hard at the note. “I’ve discovered something. Mignon’s not the horrid Observer. See. The writing and paper and all are quite different. I’m sure she isn’t. She’d never ask anyone else to write such letters. It’s not her way.”

“Then that is good news, too,” smiled Mrs. Dean. “I am also glad to know it. It is dreadful to misjudge anyone.”

“I know that. I wish I knew who the Observer was, too.” Marjorie sighed and took up the next letter. As she read it she laughed outright. “It’s from General, the old dear. Just listen:

“Esteemed Lieutenant:

“Head up, forward march to the downtown barracks. Report for stern duty at 4:30 to-morrow (Thursday) P. M. Your most military presence is requested to assist in conferring with an official committee in a matter of great importance to the parties concerned. Failure to appear on time will be punished by court-martial. Be warned not to try to ambush your general in the living room to ascertain the facts beforehand. You will only be captured and sent to the guard house.

“Signed,

“General Dean.”

“It’s a surprise,” nodded Marjorie. “I know it is. Very well, I’ll show him that I’m not a bit curious. I’ll tell him, though, that it’s not fair to threaten a soldier. Do you know what it’s about, Captain?”

“No; I am equally in the dark. I wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” Mrs. Dean answered teasingly.

“I wouldn’t let you,” retorted Marjorie. “I have to be loyal to my orders. Now I’ll read Mary’s letter and then go and answer it. If I don’t answer it now I might put it off.”

Laying the three notes aside, she busied herself with the long letter from Mary, reading it aloud with numerous exclamations and comments. True to her word, she made no mention to her father of his letter. Delighting to tease her, he hinted broadly concerning it, but failed to draw Marjorie into questioning him.

Nevertheless, it was a most curious young woman who entered his office the following afternoon at the exact moment of appointment. Her curiosity was lost in wide-eyed amazement as she saw that he was not alone. Seated in a chair beside his desk was a stout, dark man of middle age, whose restless, black eyes and small, dark mustache bespoke the foreigner. But this was not the cause of her astonishment. It lay in the fact that the man was Mignon La Salle’s father. Both men rose as she entered, Mr. La Salle bowing to her in the graceful fashion of the Frenchman.

“Sit here, Lieutenant. Mr. La Salle wishes to talk with you. He is kind enough to allow me to be present at the conference.”

“Miss Marjorie, I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before to-day. It is a very great pleasure. I have already thanked your father for his kindness to my daughter several evenings since. Now I must thank you, too. But I wish also to ask a far greater favor. My daughter, Mignon,” he paused as though at a loss to proceed, “is a somewhat peculiar girl. For many years she has had no mother.” He sighed, then continuing, “I wish her to be all that is good and fine. But I am a busy man. I cannot take time to be with her as I would desire. From my friend Harold Macy I have heard many pleasant things of you and your friends. So I have thought that it might be well to ask you if you——” Again he paused, his black eyes riveted on Marjorie, “if you will take an interest in my daughter, so that I may feel that her associates are of the best.

“I regret greatly her friendship with Miss Farnham. But that is past. She has told me all, and I have forbidden their further intimacy. Perhaps you are already the friend of my Mignon? If so, it is, indeed, well. If not, may I hope that you will soon become such, indeed?” There was a trace of pleading in his carefully enunciated speech with its slightly foreign accent.

A queer, choking sensation gripped Marjorie’s throat. She was immeasurably touched. Happy in her General’s love, she glimpsed something of the tender motive, which had actuated this stern man of business to plead for his daughter’s welfare.

“I am willing to be Mignon’s friend, if she is willing to be mine,” she answered with grave sweetness. “I think I may speak for my friends, also.”

“Thank you. She will respond, I am sure.” A faint tightening of his thin lips gave hint that he would see to the exaction of that response. “It will be a pleasure to invite you to dine with us to-morrow evening,” he added. La Salle PÈre evidently intended to allow no grass to grow under his feet.

“Thank you. May I go, General?” Marjorie’s eyes sought her father’s. Though she had maintained a gracious composure, he guessed that she was far from easy over this queer turn of affairs. There was a faintly martyred look in her brown eyes.

“Yes,” he said in a steady, reassuring tone. “Your General approves.” He flashed her a mischievous glance.

“Then you may expect me.” Marjorie rose and offered her hand to the anxious father. “I must go now,” she said. “I am very glad to have met you, Mr. La Salle.”

Once outside the office she drew a long breath of dismay. “I’m quite sure of most of the girls,” was her reflection, “but what, oh, what will Jerry say?”