"Why, no," came the wondering reply. "Have you missed her?"

"I saw her go by in a limousine," stated Constance Stevens, from the tonneau of the Deans' car. "She was driving and the chauffeur was sitting beside her."

A belated light now dawned upon Mignon. She understood that this was the fruition of Rowena's threat. She had purposely run off and left her, knowing that she could not hope to catch the last train.

In the dark of the tonneau, Constance gave Marjorie's hand a quick pressure. Its instant return signified that her chum understood. Without hesitation she called to the tragic little figure on the sidewalk, "We'll take you home, Mignon. It's lucky that General stopped to examine that tire." Then to her father, "This is Mignon La Salle, Father. You know her, Mother."

"Yes." Mrs. Dean bowed in reserved fashion. "Get into the tonneau with the girls, Miss La Salle. We will see that you arrive safely at your own door."

The unexpected courtesy very nearly robbed the stranded girl of speech.

Stammering her thanks, Mignon climbed ruefully into the tonneau and seated herself by Marjorie. As the car began a loud purr, preparatory to starting, her outraged feelings overcame her and she burst into tears.

"It was hateful in her," she sobbed, "perfectly hateful."

"It was," agreed Marjorie positively. "But I wouldn't cry about it. You are all right now." Then with a view to cheering the weeper, she added: "You sang your part beautifully both nights, Mignon. That's something to be glad of. This little trouble doesn't really matter, since everything turned out well."

"It's nice in you to say it," quavered Mignon. "But, oh, how I despise that hateful, hateful girl. I'll never, never speak to her again as long as I live."

Marjorie might easily have a.s.sured her that this was a wise decision.

Instead, she prudently refrained from committing herself. Mignon's mind continued to dwell on her wrongs. She cried and raged against her treacherous companion during most of the ride home. Constance and Marjorie were obliged to listen and administer judicious consolation. It did not appear to sink deep. Mignon was too self-centered to realize their generosity of spirit. When they left her at the La Salle's gate she tried to put graciousness into her thanks, but her thoughts were too firmly fixed upon faithless Rowena and herself to appreciate the kindness she had received.

"For once Mignon had to swallow a dose of her own medicine," commented Constance grimly, as the Deans' car sped away toward their home, where Connie was to spend the night with Marjorie.

"She found it pretty hard to take," mused Marjorie. "It's a good thing, though. This will end Mignon's friendship with Rowena, but it won't change her one little bit. I don't believe she'll ever change."

CHAPTER XXIII-A PECULIAR REQUEST

"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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sist 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 a.s.sociates 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 Pere evidently intended to allow no gra.s.s 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, rea.s.suring 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?"

CHAPTER XXIV-AN UNEXPECTED CALAMITY

Jerry had a great deal to say. She was so justly wrathful she very nearly cried. "It's the worst thing I ever heard of," she sputtered. "I wish we'd never revived that old operetta. Then Mignon wouldn't have sung in it and got left at the switch, and you wouldn't be asking us to make martyrs of ourselves. After all you've said about being through with Mignon, too! It's a shame!"

"But just suppose her father had come to you and asked you to help her, what would you have done?" pleaded Marjorie.

"Told him Mignon's history and advised him to lock her up," snapped Jerry. "I hope-- Oh, I don't know what I hope. I can't think of anything horrible enough to hope."

"Poor Jeremiah. It's too bad." Marjorie's little hand slipped itself into the plump girl's fingers. "You know you'd have done just as I did.

I had quite a long talk with Mignon last night. After dinner her father left us to ourselves. It wasn't exactly pleasant. She would say mean things about Rowena. Still, she said she'd like to try again and wished that we would all help her. So I said for all of us that we would. You won't back out, will you, Jerry?"