"Well, you will know some day. There are many things which you are too young to understand, and you must try to trust in your uncle's knowing what is best for you in the matter of your father, who will return to you some day, I hope."
"Oh! do you really think that is possible?" cried Marjory. "Could it ever happen?"
"Certainly it might. I don't see any reason at all why you shouldn't hope for his coming. And if you will promise to be very patient, and to hope for the best, I will tell you something very nice that I heard said about your father a little while ago."
Marjory's eyes grew big with wonder. "Oh, _do_ tell me. Indeed I will try to be patient."
"Well, an old friend of mine in London, who knows your uncle, and met your father long ago, said to me, 'A fine fellow was Hugh Davidson. I always feel that he may turn up again some day.'"
Mrs. Forester did not repeat other words said at the same time--namely, that "Hunter was always jealous, and would see no good in him;" but she felt justified in telling Marjory what she did, for she well knew how the girl would treasure the words, and how they might often comfort and encourage her.
"Oh! that _is_ good," said Marjory. "I do thank you for telling me." And she squeezed her friend's hand.
"Now you must try to be very patient and hopeful. If God sees fit, be sure that He will give your father to you for your very own some day. In the meantime you must do all you can to be the sort of girl that a father would be proud of; and, Marjory, I have been thinking that your uncle might say the same of you as you do of him. You are fond of him, really, aren't you?"
"Nonsense! I suppose you would quite like it if he were to put his arms round you and call you his dear little Marjory?"
"Yes." Marjory was quite sure that she would like it very much, but she could hardly imagine such a thing happening.
"Well, do you ever go near enough to him to let him do it if he wanted to, or do you simply give him your cheek to kiss, morning and evening, and nothing more?"
"Yes, that's just what I do," confessed Marjory, laughing.
"Then perhaps your poor uncle thinks that you consider yourself too big to be kissed and hugged, and so he doesn't do it. You can't blame him, you know; if you just give him a little peck, and run away, you don't give him a chance. You take my advice: try to be a little more loving in your manner towards him, and it will soon make a difference. Perhaps you don't like a stranger to speak so plainly to you, but I have heard so much about you that I don't feel like a stranger at all. But I must be going now. Dr. Hunter has invited Blanche to come to tea with you to-morrow, and I hope this will be the beginning of a brighter life for you, my child. Good-bye, dear," kissing her.--"Come, Blanche; we must be going now."