[Illustration: MARY KNELT ON THE DRIVEWAY AND GATHERED CHARLIE INTO HERARMS. _Marjorie Dean High School Sophomore. _]

 MARJORIE DEAN High School Sophomore

 By PAULINE LESTER

 AUTHOR OF

 "Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman" "Marjorie Dean, High School Junior" "Marjorie Dean, High School Senior"

 A. L. BURT COMPANY

 Publishers New York

 Copyright, 1917 BY A. L. BURT COMPANY

MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SOPHOMORE

CHAPTER I

WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE

"Come on in, Connie. The water's fine!" invited Marjorie Dean, beckoningwith one round, dripping arm to the girl on the sands, while with theother she kept herself lazily afloat. 

The sun of a perfect August morning poured down upon the white beach, dotted here and there with ambitious bathers, who had grasped Timefirmly by his venerated forelock, and fared forth with the proverbialearly bird for a morning dip in a deceitfully dimpled and smiling sea. 

It was not yet nine o'clock, but, fearful of losing a minute of herprecious seaside vacation, Marjorie Dean had come down to her favoriteplayground for her usual early morning swim. 

"I know it's fine, " laughed Constance Stevens, "but this nice white sandis even finer. "

"You'll never learn to swim if you just sit on the beach and dream, "reminded Marjorie. "I feel that it's my stern duty to see that youreducation as a water paddler is not neglected. So here goes!"

With a few skilful strokes she brought up in shallow water. There was aquick rush of lithe feet, the sound of sweet, high laughter, then alittle, good-natured gurgle of protest from the golden-haired, blue-eyedgirl curled up on the sand as she found herself being dragged into thewater by a pair of sturdy young arms. 

"Now--sink or swim, survive or perish!" panted Marjorie, as the lappingshallows broke over the yielding figure of her friend. "You'll simplyhave to be a water baby, Connie, dear. It's as important as being asophomore in Sanford High, and you know just how important that is! Now, watch me and do likewise. "

Her day dream thus rudely interrupted, Constance Stevens laughinglyresigned herself to Marjorie's energetic commands, and, now thoroughlyawake to the important business at hand, tried her best to follow herfriend's instructions. A fifteen minutes' lesson in the art of learningto float followed, and at the end of that time, by common consent, thetwo girls waded ashore and flung themselves on the warm sand. 

"I'll never learn to swim. I feel it in my bones, " asserted Constance, as she lazily rose, wrung the water from her bathing suit and seatedherself on the white beach beside Marjorie, who lay stretched at fulllength, her head propped upon her elbows, her alert gaze upon the fewbathers who were disporting themselves in the water. 

"Then your bones are false prophets, " declared Marjorie calmly. "Youknow how to float already, and that's half the battle. We'll rest alittle and talk some more, and then we'll try it again. Next time I'llteach you an easy stroke. Isn't it funny, Connie, we never seem to get'talked out. ' We've been here together five whole weeks and yet therealways seems to be something new to say. You are really a mostentertaining person. "

"That's precisely my opinion of you. " Constance's blue eyes twinkled. 

The two girls laughed joyously. Two wet hands stretched forth and met ina loving little squeeze. 

"It's been wonderful to be here with you, Marjorie. Last year at thistime I never dreamed that anything so wonderful could possibly happen tome. " The golden-haired girl's voice was not quite steady. 

"And I've loved being here with you. What a lot of things can happen ina year, " mused Marjorie. "Why, at this time last year I never even knewthat there was a town called Sanford on the map, and when I found outthere was really such a place, and that I was going to live thereinstead of staying in B---- and going to Franklin High, I felt perfectly_awful_ about it. "

It had, indeed, been a most unhappy period for sunny, lovable MarjorieDean when the call of her father's business had made it necessary forhim to remove his family from the beautiful city of B----, whereMarjorie had been born and lived sixteen untroubled years of life, tothe smaller northern city of Sanford, where she didn't know a soul. 

All that happened to Marjorie Dean from the first day in her new homehas been faithfully recorded in "MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN. "In that narrative was set forth her trials, which had been many, and hertriumphs, which had been proportionately greater, as a freshman inSanford High School. How she had become acquainted with ConstanceStevens and how, after never-to-be-forgotten days of storm and sunshine, the friendship between the two young girls had flowered into perfectunderstanding, formed a story of more than ordinary interest. 

Now, after several happy weeks at the seashore, where the Deans hadrented a cottage and were spending their usual summer outing withConstance as their guest, the two friends were enjoying the last perfectdays of mid-summer before returning to Sanford, where, in September, Constance and Marjorie were to enter the delightful realm of thesophomore, to which they had won admission the previous June. 

There had been only one shadow to mar Marjorie's bliss. She had hopedthat her childhood friend and companion, Mary Raymond, might be withthem at the seashore, but, owing to the ill-health of Mary's mother, theRaymonds had been obliged to summer in the mountains, where Mary wasneeded at her mother's side. That Constance and Mary should meet andbecome friends had ever been Marjorie's most ardent desire. It wasConstance's remarkable resemblance to Mary that had drawn her toward thegirl in the very beginning. 

"It's all been so perfectly beautiful, Connie. " Marjorie gave a littlesigh of sheer happiness. "I've only one regret. "

"I know--you mean your chum, Mary, " supplemented Constance, with quicksympathy. 

Marjorie nodded. 

"It seems strange I haven't heard from her. She hasn't written me forover two weeks. I hope her mother isn't worse. "

"No news is good news, " comforted Constance. 

"Perhaps there will be a letter for me from her when we get back to thecottage. Suppose there should be! Wouldn't that be glorious?"

"Perhaps we'd better go up now and see, " suggested Constance. "It mustbe time for the postman. "

"We're not going until after you've had fifteen more minutes'instruction in the noble art of swimming, you rascal, " laughedMarjorie. "See how self-sacrificing I am! You don't appreciatemy noble efforts in your direction. "

"Of course I appreciate them, Marjorie Dean. " Constance's habituallywistful expression broke up in a radiant smile that set her blue eyesdancing. "But I must confess, this minute, that I can live and be happyif I never learn to swim. "

"That settles it. In you go again. "

Marjorie sprang energetically to her feet, and began dragging herprotesting friend down the beach to the water. Another fifteenminutes' instruction followed, punctuated by much laughter on thepart of the two girls. 

"There! I'll let you off for to-day, " conceded Marjorie, at last. "Now, come on. I have a hunch that there _is_ a letter for me. I haven't hadany letters for two whole days. "

It was only a few rods from the bathing beach to the "Sea Gull, " thecottage in which the Deans were living. As they neared it, agray-uniformed figure was seen hurrying down the walk. 

"It's the postman! What did I tell you?" Marjorie broke into a run, Constance following close at her heels. 

The two girls brought up flushed and laughing at the pretty, vine-covered veranda, where Mrs. Dean sat, in the act of opening aletter. Half a dozen other postmarked envelopes lay in her lap. 

"Oh, Captain, " Marjorie touched a hand to her bathing cap, "how many ofthem are for me?"

"All of them except this, Lieutenant, " smiled her mother, holding up theletter she had been reading. "But why all this haste? I hardly expectedyou back so soon. Five minutes before luncheon is your usual time forreappearing, " she slyly reminded. 

"Oh, I had an unmistakable hunch that there was a letter here for mefrom Mary, so I let Connie off easy on her lesson. I'll make up for itto-morrow. "

By this time Marjorie held in her hand the half-dozen envelopes, eachbearing its own special message from the various friends who held moreor less important places in her regard, and was rapidly going over them. 

"Here's one from Jerry and one from Hal. " The pink in her cheeksdeepened at sight of the familiar boyish hand. "One from Marcia Arnold, another from Muriel Harding. Here's a tiresome advertisement. " She threwthe fifth envelope disdainfully on the wicker table at her side. "And--yes, here it is, in Mary's very own handwriting!"

Laying the other letters on the table with a carefulness that bespoketheir value, Marjorie hastily tore open the envelope that contained newsof her friend and drawing out a single closely written sheet of papersaid apologetically, "You won't mind if I read this now, will you, Connie and Mother?"

"Go ahead, " urged Constance. "We couldn't be so hard-hearted as toobject. "

Mrs. Dean smiled her assent. Marjorie's thoughtfulness of others wasalways a secret source of joy to her. 

Marjorie read down the page, then uttered a little squeal of delight. "Mother!" she exclaimed joyously, "just listen to this:

 "DEAREST MARJORIE:

 "You will wonder, perhaps, what has happened to me. I know I have owed you a letter for over two weeks, but I have been so busy taking care of mother that I haven't had very much time to write. Of course, we have a nurse, but, still, there are so many little things to be done for her, which she likes to have me do. She is much better, but our doctor says she must go to a famous health resort in the West for the winter. She will start for Colorado in about two weeks, and now comes the part of my letter which I hope you will like to read. I am going to make you a visit. Father and I are coming to see you on a very mysterious mission. I won't tell you anything more about it until I see you. Part of it is sad and part of it glad, and it all depends upon three persons whether it will ever happen. There! That ought to keep you guessing. 

 "You wrote me that you would be at home in Sanford by the last of next week. Please writs me at once and let me know just exactly when you expect to reach there. We shall not try to come to the seashore, as father prefers to wait until you are back in Sanford again. With much love to you and your mother, "Yours Mysteriously, "MARY. "

Marjorie finished the last word with a jubilant wave of the letter. 

"What do you think of that, Captain? What do you suppose this mysteriousmission can be?" Marjorie's face was alight with affectionate curiosity. 

"I am not good at guessing, " Mrs. Dean smiled tolerantly. The ways ofschoolgirls were usually shrouded with a profound mystery, whichdisappeared into nothingness when confronted with reality. 

"It must be something extraordinary. She says it's part sad and partglad. I hope it's mostly glad. I know _I'm_ glad that I'm going to seeher. Why, it's almost a year since we said good-bye to each other! Oh, Connie, " she turned rapturously to Constance, "you two girls, my dearestfriends, who look alike, will actually meet at last! You'll love Mary. You can't help yourself, and she'll love you. She can't do anythingelse. "

"I hope she will like me, " said Constance a trifle soberly. "I know Ishall like her, because she is your friend, Marjorie. "

"You'll like her for yourself, Connie, " predicted Marjorie loyally, andsecure in the belief that neither of these two girls, whose friendshipshe held above rubies, could fail her, Marjorie Dean dreamed of akingdom of fellowship into which the three were fated to enter onlyafter scaling the steep and difficult walls of misunderstanding. 

CHAPTER II

THE SHADOW

"Listen, Connie! Do you hear that train whistling? I'm sure it's Mary'strain. "

Marjorie Dean peered anxiously up the track in the direction of thesound. In the distance her alert eyes spied the smoke of the approachingtrain before it rounded the bend and appeared in full view, and herheart beat high with the thought that the longer-for moment had come atlast. 

Since her return to Sanford, five days before, Marjorie had been in aquiver of affectionate impatience. How slowly the days dragged! Sheread and re-read Mary's latest letter, stating that she and her fatherwould arrive at Sanford on Wednesday on the 4. 30 train and herimpatience grew. It was not alone that she desired to see Mary. Therewas the "mysterious mission" to be considered. What girl does not love amystery? And Marjorie was no exception. At that moment, however, as shewaited for her childhood's friend, all thought of the mystery was sweptaside in the longing to see Mary again. 

As the train rumbled into the station and after many groans and shuddersstopped with a last protesting creak of wheels, Marjorie's anxious gazetraveled up and down its length. Suddenly, at the far end, she spied atall, familiar figure descending the car steps. Close behind himfollowed a slender girl in blue. With a cluck of joy and a "There sheis!" Marjorie fairly raced up the station platform. Constance followed, but proceeded more slowly. To Marjorie belonged the right to the firstrapturous moments with her chum. In her girlish soul lurked no trace ofjealousy. She understood that with Marjorie, Mary must always be first, and she was filled with an unselfish happiness for the pleasure of thegirl who had braved all things for her and would forever mean all thatwas best and highest to her. 

"Mary!" Marjorie exclaimed, her clear voice trembling with emotion. 

"Oh, Marjorie, it's been ages, " quavered Mary Raymond. Then the twobecame locked in a tempestuous embrace. 

"Here, here, where do I come in?" asked an injured voice, as the twoyoung women continued to croon over each other, all else forgotten. 

Marjorie gently disengaged herself from Mary's detaining arms and turnedto give her hand to Mr. Raymond. 

"I'm so glad to see you, " she said fervently. "Mother is waiting in ourcar, just the other side of the station. But first, let me introduce myfriend, Constance Stevens. Why, where is she? I thought she was rightbehind me. Oh, here she comes. Hurry up, Connie!"

Constance approached rather shyly. In spite of the fact that the olddays of poverty and heartache lay behind her like a bad dream, she wasstill curiously reserved and diffident in the presence of strangers. Thedecision of her aunt, Miss Susan Allison, to take up her abode inSanford in order that Constance might finish her high school course withMarjorie had brought many changes into the life of the once friendlessgirl. Miss Allison had purchased a handsome property on the outskirts ofSanford, and, after much persuasion, had, with one exception, inducedthe occupants of the little gray house to share it with her. Soonafterward Mr. Stevens, Constance's foster-father, whose name she stillbore and refused to change, had accepted a position as first violin in asymphony orchestra and had gone to fulfill his destiny in the world ofmusic which he loved. Uncle John Roland and little Charlie, once punyand crippled, but now strong and rosy, had, with Constance, come intothe lonely old woman's household at a time when she most needed them, and, in her contrition for the lost years of happiness which she had sostubbornly thrust aside, she was in a fair way to spoil her little flockby too much petting. 

The fact that from a mere nobody Constance Stevens had become the socialequal of Sanford's most exclusive contingent did not impress the girl inthe least. Naturally humble and self-effacing, she had no ambition toshine socially. Her one aim was to become a great singer, and it wasunderstood between herself and her aunt that when she was graduated fromhigh school she was to enter a conservatory of music and study voiceculture under the best masters. 

It seemed to Constance that she now had everything in the world that shecould possibly hope for or desire, but of the great good which had cometo her in one short year she felt that above all she prized thefriendship of Marjorie Dean and in whatever lay Marjorie's happiness, there must hers lie also. 

This was her thought as she now stepped forward to meet Mary Raymond. She was prepared to give this girl who was Marjorie's dearest friend aloyalty and devotion, second only to that which she accorded Marjorieherself. 

"At last my dearest wish has come true!" exclaimed Marjorie whenConstance had been presented to Mr. Raymond and she and Mary had claspedhands. "I've been so anxious for you two to know each other. Now thatyou're here together I can see that resemblance I've told you of. Connie, you look like Mary and Mary looks like you. You might easilypass for sisters. "

Constance smiled with shy sweetness at Mary and Mary returned the smile, but in her blue eyes there flashed a sudden, half-startled expression, which neither Constance nor Marjorie noted. Then she said in a toneintended to be cordial, but which somehow lacked heart, "I'm awfullyglad to know you, Miss Stevens. Marjorie has written me often of you. "

"And she has talked to me over and over again of you, " returnedConstance warmly. 

"Now that you know each other, you can postpone getting chummy untillater, " laughed Marjorie. "Mother will wonder what has happened to us. She'll think you didn't come on that train if we don't put in anappearance. "

Possessing herself of Mary's traveling bag she led the way with Marythrough the station and out to the opposite side where Mrs. Dean awaitedthem. Constance followed with Mr. Raymond. In her heart she experiencedan odd disappointment. Was it her imagination, or did Mary's cordialityseem a trifle forced? Perhaps it would have been better if she had notaccompanied Marjorie to the station to meet Mary. Perhaps Mary was atrifle hurt that her chum had not come alone. She decided that she wouldnot ride to Marjorie's home with the party, although she had beeninvited to dine with them that night. She could not bear to think ofintruding. She managed to answer Mr. Raymond's courteous remarks, buther thoughts were not centered upon what he was saying. Without warning, her old-time diffidence settled down upon her like an enveloping cloak, and her one object was to slip away as quickly and as unobtrusively aspossible. 

"I think I had better not go home with you, Marjorie, " she said in a lowvoice. They had reached the waiting automobile and Mary and Mrs. Deanwere exchanging affectionate greetings. 

"Oh, why not, Connie?" Marjorie's happy face clouded. "You know we'dlove to have you, wouldn't we, Mary?"

"Of course. " Mary again smiled at Constance, but again her smile lackedwarmth. 

Constance shook her head almost obstinately. 

"I think I had better not come, " she repeated, and in her speech therewas a shadowy return of the old baffling reserve that had so greatlydisturbed Marjorie in the early stages of their friendship. 

"But you promised to take dinner with us to-night, " remarked Marjorie. 

"I--I have changed my mind. It will be best for me to go home, I think. I'll come over to-morrow. "

Mrs. Dean added her persuasions, but Constance was firm, and, afterbidding a courteous farewell to the Deans' guests, she hurried away, more agitated than she cared to admit. 

"Why, what ails Constance, Marjorie?" asked Mrs. Dean in surprise. 

"Nothing--that is, I don't know. " Marjorie looked after her friend'srapidly disappearing figure, a puzzled expression in her brown eyes. 

Mary Raymond viewed Marjorie with a faint frown. It was rather provokingin Marjorie to express so much concern over this Constance Stevens. After their long separation she felt that her chum's every thought oughtto be for her alone. And in that instant a certain fabled green-eyedmonster, that Mary had never believed could exist for her, suddenlysprang into life and whispered to her that, perhaps, after all, she wasnot first in Marjorie Dean's heart. 

CHAPTER III

SOWING THE SEED OF DISCORD

"Before you talk of another single thing, Mary Raymond, please tell mewhat you mean by a 'mysterious mission' that is 'part sad and partglad, '" exclaimed Marjorie. 

Mr. Raymond was occupying the front seat of the automobile, beside Mrs. Dean, who drove the car, a birthday present from her husband, and thetwo girls had the tonneau of the automobile to themselves. They hadscarcely deposited Mary's luggage on the floor of the car and settledthemselves for the short ride to the Deans' home when Marjorie had madeher eager inquiry into the nature of the "mysterious mission" that hadso aroused her curiosity. 

"Well, " began Mary, brightening, "father and I _have_ come to see you ona mission, but the only mystery about it is that you don't as yet knowwhy we've come. I thought 'mysterious mission' looked rather well onpaper so I set it down. "

"But you're going to tell me about it this instant, you wicked, tantalizing girl, " insisted Marjorie with pretended sternness. 

"I thought perhaps you might be able to guess certain things from myletter, " continued Mary. "You see, I wrote you that mother would have togo to Colorado for the winter and----"

"You are going with her, " supplemented Marjorie. 

"No, that's a wild guess. I'm not going west with her. Father says Imust stay in the East and go through my sophomore year in high school. "

"But you can't stay at home by yourself, Mary. Just think how dreadfulthat would be for you, with your father away most of the time, " remindedMarjorie. 

Mary's father was a traveling salesman for a large furnituremanufactory, and spent the greater part of his time on the road. 

"That's just the point, " responded Mary. "I know I can't stay at homealone. Mother's illness and what is to become of me when father goes onthe road again is the sad part of it, but the glad part is--oh, Marjorie, can't you guess now?" Mary caught Marjorie's hand in hers. "We've come all the way to Sanford to see if, " her voice rose high withexcitement, "there isn't a little corner in the Dean barracks that acertain lieutenant can call her own for this year and----"

"Mary!" It was Marjorie's turn to become excited. "Do you really meanthat you wish to come to live with me and enter Sanford High? That we'llbe sophomores together?"

Mary clung to Marjorie's hand and nodded. For a moment she was too nearto tears for speech. But they were tears of happiness. Marjorie reallydesired her for a best friend after all. Her sudden jealousy ofConstance Stevens vanished. 

"I should say that was a _glad_ part of your mission, " laughed Marjoriehappily. "I don't know what I've ever done to deserve such good fortune. Mother will be glad, too. She loves you almost as much as she loves me. "

"Oh, Mother, " Marjorie leaned impulsively forward, "Mary's coming tolive with me this year while her mother is in Colorado. You'll have twolieutenants instead of one to look after. We are going to win sophomorehonors together and be promoted to be captains next June!"

"There, " declared Mr. Raymond with comical resignment, "now you have letthe cat out of the bag with a vengeance, Mary Raymond. All this time Ihad been planning to ask Mrs. Dean, in my most ingratiating manner, ifshe thought she might possibly make room for a certain very friskymember of my family for a while. I had intended to proceed carefully anddiplomatically so that she wouldn't be too much shocked at such aprospect, but now----"

"It's all settled, isn't it, Mother?" interrupted Marjorie. "You arejust as anxious as I for Mary to come and live with us, aren't you?"

"Shall I stop the car in the middle of the street and assure you of mywillingness to increase my regiment?" laughed Mrs. Dean. 

"No, no, " protested Marjorie. "Let's hurry home as fast as we can andtalk it over. We're only two squares from our house now. Besides, I'veplanned everything already. Mary can have the spare bedroom next to myhouse. " Marjorie always referred to her room as her "house. " "There'sonly the bath between and we'll use that together, and have a regularhouse of our own. Oh, Mary, won't it be perfectly splendid?"

Regardless of what passersby might think, Mary and Marjorie embracedwith an enthusiasm that threatened to land them both in the tonneau ofthe rapidly moving car, while their elders smiled at this recklessdisplay of affection. 

The automobile had hardly come to a full stop on the broad driveway, that wound through the wide stretch of lawn that was one of the chiefbeauties of the Deans' pretty home, when Marjorie swung open the doorand skipped nimbly out of the car with, "Welcome home, Mary!"

Mary was only an instant behind Marjorie in leaving the car, and the twohugged each other afresh out of pure joy of living. 

"Take Mary up to her room at once, dear, " directed Mrs. Dean. "I'm sureshe must be tired and hungry after her long ride in the train. We willhave an early dinner to-night. I expect Mr. Dean home at almost anymoment, " she continued, turning to Mr. Raymond. 

"Come on, Mary. " Marjorie had lifted Mary's bag from the automobile. Nowshe stretched forth an inviting hand to Mary, and piloted her across thelawn and up the short stretch of stone walk to the front door. The dooropened and a trim, rosy-cheeked maid appeared as by magic. She reachedfor Mary's bag, but Marjorie waved her gently aside. 

"I'll do the honors, Delia. You can look after mother and Mr. Raymond. We are very self-sufficient persons who don't need anything except achance to go upstairs and talk ourselves hoarse. "

A wide smile irradiated the maid's goodnatured face, as she steppedaside to allow Marjorie and Mary to enter the hall. 

"What a darling house!" Mary's glance traveled about the pretty Dutchhall to the large, comfortable living room beyond. "You have oceans ofroom here, haven't you?"

Marjorie nodded. "Yes; when first we came here I felt lost. It wasactually lonesome. It took me a whole week to grow accustomed to lookingout without seeing rows of brick houses across the street and on eachside of me. Don't you remember, I wrote you all about it? You see, Ididn't enter high school until we'd been here almost two weeks, and inall that time I never met a single girl. I felt like a shipwreckedsailor on a great, big, lonely, old island. Shall we go upstairs now?I'm so anxious to have you see my 'house. ' It's a house within a house, you know. Mother had it all done up in pink and white for me, and Ispent hours in it. Your house is blue. I made general and captain letme have one of the spare bedrooms done in blue, so that when you came tovisit me you'd feel at home. And now it's going to be your very own fora whole year! It's too good to be true. "

Releasing Mary's hand, Marjorie led the way up the stairs to the secondfloor and down the short hall to her "house. " Mary cried out inadmiration at her friend's dainty room. She walked about, exclaimingover its perfect details after the manner of girls, then three minuteslater the two somehow found themselves seated side by side on Marjorie'spretty white bed, their arms about each other's waists, and fairlylaunched into one of the good, old-time confabs they were wont toindulge in when the top step of the Deans' veranda in B---- had beentheir favorite trysting place. 

Half an hour later Mrs. Dean entered the room to find them still talkingat an alarming rate, the rest of their world apparently forgotten. 

"I might have known it, " she smiled. "Why, you haven't even taken offyour hats, and dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Marjorie, you are amost neglectful hostess. "

"Oh, we don't mind having dinner with our hats on, " returned Marjoriecheerfully. Then, rising, she took off her broad-brimmed Panama, andbegan gently pulling the pins from Mary's hat. "Make it fifteen minutes, instead of ten, Captain, and we'll be as spick and span as you please. "

"Discipline seems to be very lax in these barracks, " commented Mrs. Dean. "I am afraid I ought to call upon General to help me enforce myorders. Under the circumstances I'll be lenient, though, and stretch thetime to fifteen minutes. There, I hear General downstairs now!"

She disappeared from the doorway and immediately a great scurrying aboutbegan, punctuated with much talk and laughter. To Marjorie it seemed asthough she had not been so happy for ages. It was wonderful to know thather beloved Mary was actually with her once more, and still morewonderful that she would continue to be with her indefinitely. 

At dinner she beamed joyously across the table at the little blue-eyedgirl, while their elders discussed and settled her destiny for thecoming year. Mr. And Mrs. Dean met Mr. Raymond's request in behalf ofhis daughter with the whole-heartedness that so characterized them. Infact, they were highly in favor of receiving Mary as a member of theirlittle household. 

"Two soldiers are better than one, " asserted Mr. Dean humorously. "Ibelieve in preparedness. 'In times of peace prepare for war, ' you know. With such a valiant army under my command I could do wonders if attackedby the enemy. "

After dinner they all repaired to the living room, where the discussionof the all-important subject was continued, and when at eleven o'clocktwo sleepy, but blissfully happy, lieutenants climbed the stairs to bed, Mary Raymond lacked nothing except actual adoption papers, signed andsealed, to admit her into the Deans' hospitable fold. 

Yet there was one tiny drawback to Mary's joy. Try as she might shecould not forget Constance Stevens and Marjorie's too evident fondnessfor her. From Marjorie's early letters she had formed the conclusionthat Constance was merely a poor nobody, whom her chum, with her usualspirit of generosity had tried to befriend. Marjorie's later letters hadcontained little pertaining to Constance. Mary had not known of the longperiod of estrangement between Constance and Marjorie that had so nearlywrecked their budding friendship, and of the many changes that time hadwrought in the life of the girl who looked like her. She had, therefore, been quite unprepared to meet the dainty, well-dressed young woman whomMarjorie appeared to hold in such strong affection. She reflected thatnight, a trifle resentfully, after Marjorie had kissed her good-nightand left her, that it was very strange in Marjorie not to have put herin possession of the real facts of the case. Still, it was really nother affair. If Marjorie chose to become chummy with Constance withouteven writing a word of it to her, there was nothing to do except to besilent over the whole affair. Perhaps Marjorie would tell her all aboutit later. Certainly she would ask no questions. And then and there, little, blue-eyed Mary Raymond made her first mistake, and sowed a tinyseed of discord in her jealous heart that was fated later to bear bitterfruit. 

CHAPTER IV

INTRODUCING MARY TO THE GIRLS

"We've come for a last inspection, Captain. How do we look?"

Marjorie Dean danced into her mother's room, her brown eyes sparklingwith anticipation, her charming face all smiles. Mary Raymond followedher excited chum. 

"Halt! Company, attention!" commanded Mrs. Dean, as she turned from herdressing table to pass an opinion upon the waiting brigade of two. Herbrown eyes rested approvingly upon the trim figures drawn up in theirmost soldierly attitude before her. Marjorie's frock of pink linen, withits wide lace collar and cuffs, exactly suited her dark eyes and hair, while Mary's gown of pale blue of the same material served to accentuatethe fairness of her skin and the gold of her curls. 

"Shall we do, Captain? Are we absolutely spick and span?" Marjorieturned slowly about, then made a laughing dive at her mother andenveloped her in a devastating embrace. 

"Now see the havoc you've wrought, " complained Mrs. Dean. "I shall haveto do my hair over again. Never mind. I'll forgive you, and, beingmagnanimous, will state that I am very proud of the appearance of myarmy. "

"You're a gallant officer and a dear, all in one. " Marjorie caught hermother's hand in hers. "Now, we must be on our way. We are going toschool early because Mary will have to see Miss Archer. Besides, I'manxious for her to meet Jerry Macy and some of the other girls. If onlyshe had come to Sanford sooner, I'd have loved to give a party for her. Then she'd know every one of my friends. Oh, well, there is plenty oftime for that. Good-bye, Captain. We'll be back before long. There isnever very much to do in school on the first day. "

Dropping a gay little kiss on her mother's smooth cheek, Marjorie leftthe room, followed by Mary, who stopped just long enough to kiss Mrs. Dean good-bye. 

Three weeks had slipped by since Mr. Raymond and Mary had come toSanford upon the so-called mysterious mission that had made Mary Raymonda member of the Dean household. They had returned to the city ofB---- the following day. From there Mr. Raymond had gone directly to themountains, for his wife, who, in spite of her ill-health, had insistedon returning to her home to oversee the making of Mary's gowns and thechoosing of her wardrobe in general. Two days before coming to Sanford, Mary had seen her mother off on her journey to Colorado in quest ofhealth. She had put on a brave face and smiled when she wished to cry, and it was alone the thought that she was going to live with Marjorieduring her mother's absence that kept her from breaking down at the lastsad moment of farewell. 

It was a sober-faced, sad-eyed Mary that Marjorie had met at the train, but, under the irresistible sunniness of Marjorie's nature, Mary hadsoon emerged from her cloud, and now the prospect of entering SanfordHigh School filled her with lively anticipation. 

As Marjorie and Mary emerged from the house and swung down the stonewalk in perfect step, they beheld a stout, and to Marjorie, a decidedlyfamiliar figure turning in at the gate. In the same instant a joyous"Hello" rent the air, and the stout girl cantered up the walk at asurprising rate of speed. There was a delighted gurgle from Marjorie, that ended in a fervent embrace of the two young women. 

"Oh, Jerry, I'm so glad to see you! I was afraid you wouldn't be back inSanford before school opened. I saw Irma day before yesterday and shesaid she hadn't heard a word from you for over a week. "

"We didn't get here until last night at ten o'clock Maybe I'm not gladto see _you_. " Jerry beamed affectionately upon Marjorie. 

"This is my friend, Mary Raymond, Jerry, " introduced Marjorie. "She isgoing to live with us this winter and be a sophomore at dear old SanfordHigh. There will be six of us instead of five now. "

"I'm glad to know you. " Jerry smiled and stretched forth a plump hand ingreeting. "I've heard a lot about you. "

"I've heard Marjorie speak of you, too. I'm ever so pleased to meetyou. " Mary exhibited a friendliness toward Jerry Macy that had beenquite lacking in her greeting of Constance Stevens. 

As the three stood for a moment at the gate Jerry's eyes suddenly grewvery round. 

"Why, Marjorie, your friend looks like Connie, doesn't she?"

"Of course she does, " replied Marjorie happily. "Don't you remember Itold you long ago that that was why I felt so drawn toward Connie in thefirst place?"

"Yes, I remember it now. Isn't it funny that your two dearest friendsshould look alike? Have you met Constance, Mary? I'm going to call youMary. I never call a girl 'Miss' unless I can't bear her. I'm sure I'mgoing to like you. Not only because you're Marjorie's chum, but foryourself, you know. If you turn out to be even one half as nice asConstance Stevens, I'll adore you. Connie is a dear and no mistakeabout it. "

The shadow of a frown touched Mary's forehead. Why must she be compelledto hear continually of Constance Stevens? And why should this Jerry Macyplace her and Constance on the same plane in Marjorie's affection? Shedid not propose to share her place in her chum's heart with anyone. Ofcourse, this girl could not possibly know just how much she and Marjoriehad always been to each other. Later on they would understand. Theywould soon see that Marjorie preferred her above all others. 

Comforted by this reflection the shadow passed from Mary's face and thetrio started down the street for school, chatting and laughing as onlycarefree schoolgirls can. 

Once inside the school building, Jerry said good-bye to them and turneddown the corridor toward the study hall. Marjorie smiled with tenderreminiscence as she and Mary climbed the familiar broad stairway to thesecond floor. She was thinking of another Monday morning that belongedto the past, when a timid stranger had climbed those same stairs anddiffidently inquired the way to the principal's office. How far awaythat day seemed, and how much had happened within those same walls sincethat fateful morning. 

"I'll never forget my first morning here, " she said to Mary, as theywalked down the corridor toward their destination--the last room on theeast side. "Captain had a headache and couldn't come with me. I had tomarch into Miss Archer's office all by myself. I felt like a forlornstranger in a strange, unfriendly land. Then I met such a nice girl, Ellen Seymour, a friend of mine now, and she took me to the office andintroduced me to Miss Archer. "

Before Mary had time to reply they had entered the cheerful living-roomoffice that had so greatly impressed Marjorie on her first introductionto Sanford High. A tall, dark girl, seated at a desk at one end of theroom, glanced up at the sound of the opening door. She hurried forwardwith a little exclamation of delighted surprise. "Why, Marjorie!" sheexclaimed. "I was just thinking of you. I was wondering if you'd be infor the first day. I had made up my mind to run down to the study hall alittle later and see. " She now had Marjorie's hands in an affectionateclasp. 

"I've been wondering about you, too, " nodded Marjorie. "You are anotherstray who didn't come back until the last minute. "

"I'm a working girl, you know, " reminded Marcia. "Doctor Bernard wasdreadfully disappointed because I wouldn't give up high school and keepon being his secretary. But I couldn't do that. "

"Of course you couldn't, " agreed Marjorie, "especially now that you area senior. "

Mary Raymond had drawn back a little while Marjorie and Marcia Arnold, Miss Archer's once disagreeable secretary, but now a changed girlthrough the influence of Marjorie, exchanged greetings. Marjorie turnedand drew her chum forward, introducing her to Marcia, who bowed andextended her hand in friendly fashion. 

"Is Miss Archer busy, Marcia?" asked Marjorie, after she had explainedthat Mary was to become a pupil of Sanford High School. 

"Wait a moment, I'll see. " Marcia went into the inner office, returningalmost instantly with, "Go right in. She is anxious to see you, Marjorie. "

Miss Archer's affectionate welcome of Marjorie Dean brought a blush ofsheer pleasure to the girl's cheeks. Her heart thrilled with joy at thethought that there was now no veil of misunderstanding between her andher beloved principal. 

"And so this is Mary Raymond. " Miss Archer took the newcomer's hand inboth her own. "We are glad to welcome you into our school, my dear. Yourprincipal at Franklin High School has already written me of you. Howlong have you been in Sanford?"

Mary answered rather shyly, explaining her situation, while Marjorielooked on with affectionate eyes. She was anxious that Miss Archershould learn to know and love Mary. 

"I will put you in Marjorie's hands, " declared Miss Archer, after a fewmoments' pleasant conversation. "She will take you to the study hall andsee that you are made to feel at home. We wish our girls to look upontheir school as their second home, considering they spend so much oftheir time here. Please tell your mother, Marjorie, " she added, as thetwo girls turned to leave the room, "that I shall try to call on herthis week. "

"How do you like Miss Archer? Isn't she splendid?" were the quickquestions Marjorie put, as they retraced their steps down the longcorridor. 

"I know I'm going to love her, " returned Mary fervently. "I hope I'll behappy here, Marjorie. " There was a wistful note in her voice that causedMarjorie to glance sharply at her friend. Mary's charming face was setin unusually sober lines. 

"Poor Mary, " was her reflection. "She's thinking of her mother. " ButMary Raymond's thoughts were far from the subject of her mother. Instead, they were fixed upon what Jerry Macy had said that morningabout Constance Stevens. Miss Archer had asked about Constance, too. Shehad spoken of her as though she and Marjorie were best friends. What hadshe meant when she said, "Well, Marjorie, you and Constance deserve fairsophomore weather after last year's storms. " The flame of jealousy, which Mary had sought to stifle after her first meeting with Constance, was kindled afresh. 

"What did Miss Archer mean when she spoke of you and Miss Stevens--andlast year's storms?" she asked abruptly. 

"Oh, I can't explain now. It's too long a story. Here we are at thestudy hall. " Her mind occupied with school, Marjorie had not caught thestrained note in Mary's voice. 

"She doesn't wish me to know, " was Mary's jealous thought. "She iskeeping secrets from me. All right. Let her keep them. Only I know onething, and that is--I'll _never_, _never_, _never_ be friends withConstance Stevens, not even to please Marjorie!"

CHAPTER V

AN UNCALLED-FOR REBUFF

The great study hall which Marjorie and Mary entered had little of theatmosphere supposed to pervade a hall of learning. A loud buzz ofconversation greeted their ears. It came from the groups of girlscollected in various parts of the hall, who were making the most oftheir opportunities to talk until called to order. Marjorie gave oneswift glance toward the lonely desk on the platform. It had alwaysreminded her of an island in the midst of a great sea. She breathed alittle sigh of relief. Her pet aversion, Miss Merton, was not occupyingthe chair behind it. This, no doubt, accounted for the general air ofrelaxation that pervaded the room. Her alert eyes searched the room forConstance Stevens. She was not present. She gave another sigh, this timeit was one of disappointment. She had seen Constance only twice sinceMary's arrival. On one occasion she had taken dinner at the Deans' home. The three girls had spent, what seemed to Marjorie, an unusuallypleasant evening. Constance, feeling dimly that Mary did not quiteapprove of her, had dropped her usually reticent manner and exertedherself to please. So well had she succeeded that Mary had ratherunwillingly succumbed to her charm and grown fairly cordial. 

Totally unconscious of the shadow which had darkened the pleasure ofConstance's first meeting with Mary, and equally ignorant of Mary'ssecret resentment of her new friend, Marjorie had retired that nightinwardly rejoicing in both girls and planning all sorts of good timesthat they three might have together. 

Several days later Constance had entertained them at luncheon at "GrayGables, " the beautiful, old-fashioned house Miss Allison had purchased, on the outskirts of Sanford. Mary had been secretly impressed with itsluxury and had instantly made friends with little Charlie. The quaintchild had gravely informed her that she looked like Connie andimmediately taken her into his confidence regarding his aspirationstoward some day playing in "a big band. " He had also obligingly favoredher with a solo of marvelous shrieks and squawks on his much tortured"fiddle. " Mary loved children, and this, perhaps, went far towardstilling the jealousy, which, so far, only faintly stirring, bade fairto one day burst forth into bitter words. 

"I'll see you in school on Monday, " Marjorie had called over hershoulder, as she and Mary had taken their departure from Constance'shome that afternoon. But now Monday had come and there was no sign ofthe girl Marjorie held so dear in the study hall. 

"Connie had better hurry. It's five minutes to nine. She'll be late. "Marjorie's gaze traveled anxiously toward the door. An unmistakablefrown puckered Mary's brows, but Marjorie did not see it. 

"Oh, Marjorie Dean, here you are at last. We've been waiting for you. "Susan Atwell left a group of girls with which she had been hob-nobbingand hurried down the aisle. "Come over here, you dear thing. We've beenlooking our eyes out for you. " She stopped short and stared hard atMary. "Why, I thought----" she began. 

"You thought it was Connie, didn't you?" laughed Marjorie. Sheintroduced Mary to Susan. 

"The girls over there thought you were Constance Stevens, too, " smiledSusan, showing her dimples. "You see, Marjorie and Connie areinseparable, so, of course, we naturally mistook you for her. I neversaw two girls look so much alike. If we have a fancy dress party thisyear you two can surely go as the Siamese Twins. Wouldn't that begreat?"

Mary smiled perfunctorily. She had her own views in the matter, andthey did not in the least coincide with Susan's. 

A moment later they were hemmed in by an enthusiastic bevy of girls, each one trying to make herself heard above the others. Marjorie wasbesieged on all sides with eager inquiries. The girls had discovered, asshe neared them, that her companion was not Constance Stevens. Marjorie, at once, did the honors and Mary found herself nodding in quicksuccession to half a dozen girls. 

"You fooled us all for a minute, Miss Raymond, " cried Muriel Harding. 

"She didn't fool me, " announced Jerry Macy, who had joined them just intime to hear Muriel's remark. "I knew she was coming, but I kept stillbecause I wanted to see you girls stare. "

"Look around the room, Marjorie, " observed Irma Linton in a guardedtone. "Do you miss anyone? Not Constance. I wonder where she is?"

"I don't know. " Marjorie's eyes took in the big room, then again soughtthe door. "She said she would meet me here this morning. Let me see. DoI miss anyone? Do you mean a girl in our class, Irma?"

Irma nodded. 

Marjorie cast another quick look about her. "Why, no. Oh, now I know. You mean Mignon. "

Again Irma nodded. Under cover of a burst of laughter from the othersshe murmured, "Mignon won't be with us this year. You will observe, ifyou look hard, that I'm not weeping over our loss. "

Marjorie was silent for a moment. The past rode before her like apanorama, as the thought of the elfish-faced French girl and of howdeeply she had caused both herself and Constance Stevens to suffer. Herpretty face hardened a trifle as she said, in a low voice, "I'm notsorry, either, Irma. But why won't she be in high school this year? Hasshe moved away from Sanford? I haven't seen her since we came home fromthe beach. "

"She has gone away to boarding school, " answered Irma. "Between you andme, I think she was ashamed to come back here this year. Susan told methat her father wanted her to stay in high school and go to college, butshe teased and teased to go away to school, so finally he said shemight. She left here over two weeks ago. One of the girls received aletter from her last week. In it she said she was so glad she didn'thave to go to a common high school and that the girls in her school werenot milk-and-water babies, but had a great deal of spirit and daring. "

Marjorie's lip curled unconsciously. "I'd rather be a 'milk-and-waterbaby' than as cruel and heartless as she. I'll never forgive her for theway she treated Connie. Let's not talk of her, Irma. It makes me feelcross and horrid, and, of all days, I'd like to be happy to-day. There'sso much to be happy over, and I'm so glad to see all of you. Life wouldbe a desert waste without high school, wouldn't it?"

Marjorie's soft hand found Irma's. She was very fond of this quiet, fair-haired girl, who, with Jerry Macy, had stood by her so resolutelythrough dark days. 

"Here she comes--our dear teacher. Look out, girls, or you'll be usheredout of Sanford High before you've had a chance to look at the bulletinboard, " warned Muriel Harding's high-pitched voice. Her sarcasticremarks carried farther than she had intended they should, as a suddenhush had fallen upon the study hall. Miss Merton, Marjorie's petaversion, had stalked into the great room. She cast a malignant glance, not at Muriel, but straight at Marjorie Dean. 

"Oh, " gasped Muriel and Marjorie in united consternation. 

"That's the time you did it, Muriel, " muttered Jerry Macy. "I alwaystold you that you ought to be an orator or an oratress or something. Your voice carries a good deal farther than it ought to. Only MissMerton didn't think it was you who made those smart remarks. She thoughtit was Marjorie. Now she'll have a new grievance to nurse this year. "

"I'm awfully sorry. " Muriel was the picture of contrition. "I didn'tintend she should hear me--but to blame you for it! That's dreadful. I'll go straight and tell her that I said it. "

Muriel made a quick movement as though to carry out her intention. Marjorie caught her by the arm. "You'll do nothing of the sort, MurielHarding. My sophomore shoulders are broad enough to beat it. Perhaps shedidn't really hear what you said. She can't dislike me any more for thatthan she did before she thought I said it. "

"Young ladies, I am waiting for you to come to order. Will you kindlycease talking and take seats?" Miss Merton's raucous voice brokeharshly upon the abashed group of girls. They scuttled into thenearest seats at hand like a bevy of startled partridges. 

"What a horrid woman, " was Mary Raymond's thought, as she slipped into aseat in front of Marjorie, and stared resentfully at the rigid figure, so devoid of womanly beauty, in its severe brown linen dress, unrelievedby even a touch of white at the neck. 

With a final glare at Marjorie, the teacher proceeded at once to thebusiness at hand. Within the next few minutes she had arranged the girlsof the freshman class in the section of the study hall they were tooccupy during the coming year. Marjorie awaited the turn of thesophomores to be assigned to a seat with inward trepidation. She had hadno opportunity to introduce Mary to Miss Merton. What should she do? Shehalf rose from the seat, then sat down undecidedly. 

Miss Merton had arranged the freshmen to her satisfaction. Now she wascalling for the sophomores to rise. Perhaps she would not notice Mary. If she did not, then Mary could pass with the sophomores to theirsection. As soon as the session was dismissed, she would introduce herto Miss Merton. 

But Miss Merton was lynx-eyed. "That girl there in the blue dress, " sheblared forth. "You were not in the freshman class last year. "

Mary turned in her seat and shot a glance of appeal to Marjorie. Thegirl rose bravely in friend's behalf. 

"Miss Merton, " she said in her clear, young voice, "I brought MissRaymond here with me. She----"

"You are not supposed to bring visitors to school, Miss Dean, " was theteacher's sarcastic reminder. 

Marjorie's eyes kindled with wrath. Then, mastering her anger, she madecourteous reply. "She is not a visitor. She expects to enter thesophomore class. "

"Come down to this front seat, young woman, " ordered Miss Merton, ignoring Marjorie's explanation. "I'll attend to you later. "

Mary sat still, surveying Miss Merton out of two belligerent blue eyes. 

"Do as she says, Mary, " whispered Marjorie. 

Mary obeyed. Walking down the aisle with maddening deliberation, sheseated herself on the bench indicated. 

"No talking, " rasped Miss Merton, as a faint murmur went up from thegirls in the sophomore section. 

Once the classes had been assigned to their places for the year therewas little more to be done. Nettled by her recent resentment againstMarjorie, Miss Merton took occasion to deliver a sharp lecture on goodconduct in general, making several pointed remarks, which causedMarjorie to color hotly. More than one pair of young eyes glared theirresentment of this harsh teacher who had never lost an opportunity inthe past school year of censuring their favorite. 

The moment the short session was over the girls of her particular setgravitated toward Marjorie. 

"Well, of all the old cranks!" scolded Geraldine Macy. 

"She's the most hateful teacher in the world, " was Muriel Harding'stribute. 

"I wouldn't pay any attention to her, Marjorie. I'd go straight to MissArcher, " advised Susan Atwell. "Just see her now! She looks as thoughshe'd actually snap at your friend. "

Miss Merton was engaged in interviewing the still belligerent Mary, whostood listening to her, a sulky droop to her pretty mouth. 

"Oh, I must go and help Mary out. Wait for me outside, girls. "

"Do you need any help?" inquired Jerry. "I never was afraid of MissMerton, if you'll remember. "

"Oh, no. " Marjorie hurried toward her friend, and stood quietly atMary's side. 

"Well, Miss Dean, what is it?" Miss Merton eyed Marjorie with her mostdisagreeable expression. 

"I came to tell you, Miss Merton, " began Marjorie in her direct fashion, "that Miss Raymond saw Miss Archer this morning before we came to thestudy hall. She sent us----"

"That will do, Miss Dean, " interrupted Miss Merton. "I hope Miss Raymondis capable of attending to her affairs without your assistance. I shouldgreatly prefer that you go on about your own business and leave thismatter to me. I believe I have been a teacher in Sanford High Schoollong enough to be trusted to manage my own work. "

A bitter retort rose to Marjorie's lips. She forced it back and with adignified bow to Miss Merton and, "I will wait for you in the corridor, Mary, " walked from the room, her head held high, her eyes burning withresentful tears. 

CHAPTER VI

MARY'S DISTURBING DISCOVERY

Once outside the study hall Marjorie Dean's proud manner left her. Herrecent joy in returning to high school gave place to a feeling of deepdejection. Everything had certainly gone wrong. She had had so manypleasant little thrills of anticipation that she had quite forgottenMiss Merton and the teacher's unreasoning dislike for her, which she hadnever taken pains to conceal. Muriel's injudicious remarks had made abad matter worse. Marjorie knew that from now on she would have to bedoubly on her guard. It was evident that Miss Merton intended to takeher to task whenever the slightest opportunity presented itself. Marjorie even had her suspicions that Miss Merton had known that it wasMuriel instead of herself who had uttered those distinctly unflatteringwords. 

"I'll have to be very careful not to offend Miss Merton, " she ruminatedgloomily, as she stood waiting for Mary, her eyes fastened on the bigstudy-hall door. Then her thoughts switched from Miss Merton toConstance Stevens. Why hadn't Connie come to school? Surely she couldnot be ill. Perhaps Charlie was sick. 

The opening of the study-hall door interrupted her worried reflections. Mary emerged from the hall, looking like a young thundercloud. Sheclosed the door after her with a resounding bang, which conveyed morethan words. 

"Of all the hateful old tyrants!" she exclaimed, as she hurried towardMarjorie. "I despise her. How dared she treat you so?"

"Oh, never mind, " soothed Marjorie. "Let us forget her. Tell me, are youor are you not a sophomore? Or must we go to Miss Archer to straightenthings?"

"I'm a sophomore all right enough, " said Mary grimly. "I told her whatMiss Archer said, and after that she treated me more civilly. Such ateacher is a disgrace to a school. Why is she so bitter against you, Marjorie?"

Marjorie shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. She has always actedlike that toward me. It's just a natural dislike, I suppose. Sometimes, after a teacher has taught school a great many years, she takes suddenlikes and dislikes. I've been in her black books since my very first dayin Sanford High. "

"Poor old Lieutenant. " Mary patted Marjorie's hand with sympatheticaffection. 

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I don't really care much. There are so many niceteachers here who _do_ like me that I'm not going to worry over MissMerton. Come along. " She linked her arm in Mary's. "The girls will bewaiting for us outside. We are all going down to Sargent's for icecream. Then we'll go home and report to Captain. After luncheon, I thinkwe had better walk over to Gray Gables. I am afraid Connie or, perhaps, little Charlie is sick. You know Connie promised us, when we were thereon Friday, that she'd see us at school. "

Mary's face clouded. "I--I think I won't go to Gray Gables with you. Imust write to mother. Besides, you and Constance may wish to be byyourselves. "

Marjorie's brown eyes opened wide. "Why should we?" she asked. "You knowyou are always first with me. I haven't any secrets from you. "

Mary's face brightened. Perhaps she had been too hasty in herconclusions. "I wish you would tell me all about yourself andConstance, " she said slowly. "You promised you would. "

"Well, I will, " began Marjorie. Then she paused and flushed slightly. Ithad suddenly come to her that perhaps Constance would not care to haveMary know of the clouds of suspicion that had hung so heavily over herfreshman year. "I'd love to tell you about it now, Mary, but I think Ihad better ask Constance first if she is willing for me to do so. Yousee, it concerns her more than me. I am almost sure she wouldn't mind, but I'd rather be perfectly fair and ask her first. You know Captain andGeneral have always said to us, 'Never break a confidence. '"

A hurt look crept into Mary's face. "Oh, never mind, " she managed tosay with a brave assumption of indifference. "I don't wish to know aboutit if you don't care to tell me. "

"But I _do_ care to tell you, and I will if Connie says I may, " assuredMarjorie earnestly. 

Mary had no time for further remark. They had reached the doubleentrance doors to the building and were hailed by a crowd of girls atthe foot of the steps. 

"Oh, Connie, " Marjorie Dean cried out delightedly. She had spied herfriend among them. 

Constance ran forward to meet Marjorie and Mary. "I couldn't comebefore. I've been to the train. Father is here. He's going to be at homefor two days. And what do you think he wishes me to do?"

"You are not going away with him?" asked Marjorie in sudden alarm. 

"No, indeed. I couldn't give up my sophomore year here, even for him. Itisn't anything so serious. He proposed that as long as he was here toplay for us, it would be a good idea to----"

"Give a dance, " ended Jerry Macy. "Hurrah for Mr. Stevens! Long may hewave!"

"Yes, you have guessed it, Jerry, " laughed Constance. "I'm going to givea party in honor of Mary. I was so excited over it that I left him to goon to Gray Gables by himself, while I rushed over here as fast as Icould come. I wanted to catch you girls together so I could invite youin a body. Jerry, do you suppose Hal would be willing to see Lawrie andthe Crane and some of our boys? It will have to be a strictly informalhop, for I haven't time to send out invitations. "

"Of course he'll round up the crowd, " assured Jerry slangily. "If hedoesn't, I will. I guess I won't go to Sargent's with you. What is mereice cream when compared to a dance? Besides, it's fattening--the icecream, I mean. I've lost five pounds this summer and I'm not going tofind them again at Sargent's if I can help it. So long, I'll see you allto-night. "

Jerry bustled off on her errand, leaving her friends engaged in an eagerdiscussion of the coming festivity. A little later they trooped down thestreet to their favorite rendezvous, where most of their pocket moneyfound a resting place. 

"We won't have a single bit of appetite for luncheon, " commentedMarjorie to Mary, when, an hour later, they set out for home. 

"I suppose not, " assented Mary indifferently. Her thoughts were far fromthe subject of luncheon. Her jealousy of Constance Stevens wasthoroughly aroused and flaming. She wished Marjorie had never seen norheard of this hateful girl. And to think that Constance had announcedthat she was going to give a party in honor of _her_, the very personshe had robbed of her best friend! It was insufferable. What could shedo? If she refused to go, Marjorie and all those girls would wonder. Shecould give no reasonable excuse for declining to go at this late day. She told herself she would rather die than have Marjorie know how deeplyshe had hurt her. Oh, well, she was not the first martyr to the causeof friendship. She would try to bear it. Perhaps, some day, Marjorie, too, would know the bitterness of being supplanted. 

It was an unusually quiet Mary who slipped into her place at luncheonthat day. 

"What is the matter, dear?" asked Mrs. Dean, noting the girl's silence. "Don't you feel well?"

"Oh, I am all right, " she made reply, torturing her sober little faceinto a smile. 

"Mary had troubles of her own this morning, Captain, " explainedMarjorie. Then she launched forth into an account of the morning'shappenings. 

Mrs. Dean looked her indignation as her daughter's recital progressed. She had met Miss Merton and disliked her on sight. 

"I have no wish to interfere in your school life, Marjorie, " she saidwith a touch of sternness, when Marjorie had finished, "but I will nothear of either of you being imposed upon. If Miss Merton continues herunjust treatment I shall insist that you tell me of it. I shall takemeasures to have it stopped. "

"Captain won't stand having her army abused, " laughed Marjorie. 

"At least you must admit that I'm a conscientious officer, " was hermother's reply. "To change the subject, would you like to go shoppingwith me this afternoon?"

"Oh, yes, " chorused the two. Even Mary forgot her grievances for themoment. As little girls they had always hailed the idea of shopping withtheir beloved captain. 

The shopping tour took up the greater part of the afternoon, and it wasafter five o'clock when the two started for home. 

"No lingering at the dinner table to-night for this army, " declaredMarjorie, finishing her dessert in a hurry. "It's almost seven, Mary. We'll have to hurry upstairs to dress for the dance. "

"You didn't apply to me for a leave of absence, " reminded Mr. Dean. "Youknow the penalty for deserting. "

"We've forgotten it, General. You can tell us what it is to-morrow, "retorted Marjorie. "Come on, Mary. Salute your officers and away we go. "

In the excitement of dressing for the dance Mary almost forgot that shewas about to enter the house of the girl she now believed she disliked. Marjorie's praise of her pretty white chiffon evening frock almostrestored her to good humor. Marjorie herself was radiant in a gown ofapricot Georgette crepe and filmy lace. 

Mrs. Dean had elected to drive them to their destination in theautomobile, and when they alighted from the machine at the gateto Gray Gables, waving her a gay good night, Mary felt almost gladthat she had come and that the dance was to be given in her honor. 

"I've been watching for you. " A slender figure in pale blue ran down thesteps to meet them. Out of pure sentiment Constance Stevens had chosento wear the blue chiffon dress--Marjorie's gracious gift to her. She hadtaken the utmost care of it, and it looked almost as fresh as on thenight she had first worn it. 

Mary Raymond stared at her in amazement Could it be--yes, it was thevery gown that Marjorie's aunt had given her a year ago as acommencement present. Had not Marjorie declared over and over again thatshe would never part with it? And now she had deliberately given it toConstance. This proved beyond a doubt where Marjorie's true affectionlay. Mary was obsessed with a wild desire to turn and run down the driveand away from this hateful girl. This was, indeed, the last straw. 

CHAPTER VII

THE PROMISE

Mary Raymond wondered, as she walked up the steps of Gray Gables, between Constance and Marjorie, and into the brightly lighted receptionhall, how she could manage to endure the long evening ahead of her. Shewas seized with an insane desire to break from Marjorie's light hold onher arm and rush out of the house of this girl who had stolen herdearest possession, Marjorie's friendship. How well she remembered theday on which Marjorie had received the blue dress which Constance waswearing so unconcernedly. It had come by express in a huge whitepasteboard box, while she and Marjorie were seated on the Deans' stepengaged in one of their long confabs. How excited they had been over it!How they had exclaimed as Marjorie drew the blue wonder from itspasteboard nest. Then a great trying-on had followed. She recalled withjealous clearness how great Marjorie's disappointment had been when shefound it too small for her. Then Marjorie had said as she lovinglypatted its soft folds, "Never mind, I'll keep it always, just to lookat. It was awfully dear in Aunt Louise to send it to me and I wouldn'tlet her know for worlds that it doesn't fit me. " And now, after all shehad said, she had lightly given it away--and to Constance Stevens. 

Mary forced herself to smile and reply to the friendly greeting of MissAllison, who stood in the big, old-fashioned hall helping to receive herniece's guests. A moment more and she was surrounded by Geraldine Macy, Irma Linton and Susan Atwell, who had come forth in a body from thelong, palm-decorated parlor off the hall to welcome her, accompanied bya singularly handsome youth, a very tall, merry-faced young man and ablack-haired, blue-eyed lad, with clean cut, sensitive features. 

She was presented in turn to Harold Macy, Sherman Norwood, known as theCrane to his intimate associates, and Lawrence Armitage. 

"So, _you_ are Marjorie's friend, Mary Raymond, of whom she has spokento me so often, " smiled Hal Macy. "We are very glad to welcome you toSanford, Miss Raymond. "

"Thank you, " Mary returned, almost forgetting her first bitter moment. Hal Macy's direct hand-clasp and frank, bright smile of welcome stampedhim with sincerity and truth. She liked equally well LawrenceArmitage's deferential greeting and she found the Crane's wide, boyishgrin irresistible as he bowed low over her small hand. Yes, the Sanfordboys were certainly nice. She was not so sure that she liked the girls. They made too much of Marjorie, and Marjorie had proved herself disloyalto her sworn comrade and playmate of years. 

Once inside the drawing-room, which had been transformed into animpromptu ball-room by taking up the rugs and moving the piano to oneend of it, introductions followed in rapid succession. 

"Mary, you must meet my foster father. " Constance slipped her armthrough Mary's and conducted her to the piano where stood a man with animmense shock of snow-white hair, sorting high piles of music arrangedon top. "Father. "

The man at the piano wheeled at the sound of the soft voice. His stern, almost sad face broke into a radiant smile that completely transformedit. 

"This is Mary Raymond. Mary, my father, Mr. Stevens, " introducedConstance. "And this is my uncle, Mr. Roland. "

Both men bowed and took Mary's hand in turn, expressing their pleasureat meeting her. Old John Roland's faded blue eyes contained a puzzledlook. "You are very familiar, " he said. "Where have I seen you before?"

"Look sharply, Uncle John, " laughed Marjorie, who had joined them. "Youhave never seen Mary before. She is like someone you know. "

"'Someone you know, '" repeated the old man faithfully. He would neveroutgrow his quaint habit of repetition, although he had improvedimmensely in other ways since the change in Constance's fortune hadreleased him from the clutch of poverty. 

Mary eyed him curiously. Then her gaze rested on Mr. Stevens. Whatpeculiar persons they were. And Marjorie had never written her of them. They must have a strange history. She made up her mind that she wouldnever ask her fickle chum about them. She would find out whatever shewished to know from others. Now that she was a pupil of Sanford High shewould soon become acquainted with girls of her class other than thoseshe had already met. Perhaps she might learn to like some one betterthan---- Her sober reflections stopped there. She could not bringherself to the point of breaking her long comradeship with the girl whohad failed her. 

Uncle John Roland was still staring at her and smilingly shaking hisgray head. "I don't know. I can't think, and yet----"

Suddenly a jubilant little shout rent the air, causing the group aboutthe piano to smile. In the same instant Mary felt a small hand slip intohers. "I knew you comed to see Charlie again. Charlie wouldn't go to bedbecause Connie said you'd surely come. Charlie loves you a whole lot. You look like Connie. "

"Look like Connie, " muttered Uncle John. Then his faded eyes flashedsudden intelligence. "I know. Of course she's like Connie. I guessed it, didn't I?" He glanced triumphantly at Marjorie. 

"So you did, Uncle John, " nodded Marjorie brightly. 

Mr. Stevens gazed searchingly at the young girl so like his fosterdaughter. Mary felt her color rising under that penetrating gaze. It wasas though this dreamy-eyed man with the dark, sad face had read her verysoul. For a brief instant she sensed dimly the ignobleness of herjealousy of his daughter. She felt that she would rather die than havehim know it. Perhaps, after all, she was in the wrong. She would try todismiss it and do her best to enter into the spirit of the merry-making. An impatient tug at her hand caused her to remember Charlie's presence. 

"Talk to me, " demanded the child. "Connie says I have to go to bed in aminute, so hurry up. "

Mary stooped and wound her arms about the tiny, insistent youngster. Sheclasped Charlie tightly to her and kissed his eager face. And thatembrace sealed the beginning of an affection between them, the verypurity of which was one day to lead her from the terrible Valley ofDoubt into the sunlight of belief. 

"Now you've done it, " was Marjorie's merry accusation. "You've stolen mycavalier. Oh, Charlie, I thought I was your very best girl. " She madereproachful eyes at Charlie, who, delighted at receiving so muchattention, sidled over to her with a ridiculous air of importance andtook her hand. 

"Everybody likes Charlie, " he observed complacently. "Now he can stay upall night and listen to the band. "

"You'd go to sleep and never hear the band at all, " laughed Constance. "No, Charlie must go to bed and sleep and sleep, or he will never growbig enough and strong enough to play in the band. "

The half pout on Charlie's babyish mouth, born of Constance's dreadedict, died suddenly. Even the joys of staying up all night were not tobe compared with the glories of that far-off future. 

"All right, I'll go, " he sighed. "But you and Marjorie must come againsoon in the daytime when I don't have to go to bed. I'll play a newpiece for you on my fiddle. Uncle John says it's a marv'luscompysishun. "

A burst of laughter rose from the group around him at this calmstatement. After kissing everyone in his immediate vicinity, Charliemade a quaint little bow and marched off beside Constance, well pleasedwith himself. 

"Isn't he a perfect darling?" was Mary's involuntary tribute. 

"Yes, I adore Charlie, " returned Marjorie. "I used to feel so dreadfullyfor him when he was crippled. Isn't it splendid, Mr. Stevens, to see himso well and lively?" She turned radiantly to the white-haired musician. His face lighted again in that wonderful smile. He was about to answerMarjorie, when Constance, who had seen Charlie to the door where he hadbeen taken in charge by a white-capped nurse, returned to them, saying:

"What shall we have first, girls, a one step?"

"Oh, yes, do!" exclaimed Jerry Macy, who had come up in time to hearConstance's question, in company with a mischievous-eyed, freckled-faced youth who rejoiced in the dignified cognomen of DanielWebster Seabrooke, but who was most appropriately nicknamed the Gadfly. 

"Mr. Seabrooke, Miss Raymond, " introduced Jerry. 

The freckled-faced boy put on a preternaturally solemn expression andbegged the pleasure of the first dance with Mary. Mr. Stevens hadalready handed the old violinist the music for the dance and placed hisown score in position upon the piano. The slow, fascinating strains ofthe one step rang out and a great scurrying for partners began. 

Marjorie found herself dancing off with Hal Macy, while LawrenceArmitage swung Constance into the rapidly growing circle of dancers. Irma Linton and the Crane danced together, while Jerry Macy, who dancedextremely well for a stout girl, was claimed by Arthur Standish, one ofher brother's classmates. 

Once the hop had fairly begun, dance followed dance in rapid succession. Much to Mary's secret satisfaction there were no gaps in her programme. As it was, there were no wall flowers. An even number of boys and girlshad been invited and every one had put in an appearance. At eleveno'clock a dainty repast, best calculated to suit the appetites of hungryschool girls and boys, was served at small tables on the side veranda, which extended almost the length of the house. 

It was not until after supper, when the dancing was again at itsheight, that Marjorie and Constance found time for a few words together. 

The two girls had slipped away to Constance's pretty blue and whitebedroom to repair a torn frill of Marjorie's gown. 

"Isn't it splendid that we can have a minute to ourselves?" laughedConstance. "I'm glad you happened to need repairing. I hope Mary ishaving a good time. As long as it's her party I'm anxious that sheshould enjoy herself. "

"Of course she's having a good time. How could she help it?" returnedMarjorie staunchly. "All the boys have been perfectly lovely to her andso have the girls. I knew everyone would like her. You and Mary and Iwill have lots of fun going about together this winter. "

Constance smiled an answer to Marjorie's joyous prediction. Then herpretty face sobered. "Marjorie, " she said, then paused. 

Marjorie glanced up from the flounce she was setting to rights. Something in Constance's tone commanded her attention. "What is it, Connie?"

"Have you ever said anything to Mary about you--and me--and things lastyear?"

"Why, no. I wouldn't think of doing so unless I asked you if I might. I----"

"Please don't, then, " interrupted Constance. "I had rather she didn'tknow. It is all past, and, as long as so few persons know about it, don't you think it would be better to let it rest?"

Marjorie bent her head over her work to conceal the sudden disturbingflush that rose to her face. She had intended telling Constance thatvery night of the remark that Miss Archer had made in Mary's presenceabout their freshman year. She had felt dimly that, perhaps, Mary oughtto be put in possession of the story, although she had not the remotestsuspicion of the jealousy that was already warping her chum's thoughts. Her one idea had been to answer all her questions as freely as she haddone in the past. She intended to put the matter to Constance in thislight. But now Constance had forestalled her and was asking her to besilent on the very matters she wished to impart to Mary. 

"It isn't as though it is something which Mary ought to know, " continuedConstance, quite unaware of Marjorie's inward agitation. "It wouldn'tmake her happier to learn it and--and--she might not think so well ofme. I wish her to like me, Marjorie, just because she is your dearestfriend. Don't you think I am right about it? You wouldn't care to haveeven the friend of your best friend know all the little intimate detailsof your life. Now, would you?" Constance slipped to her knees besideMarjorie, one arm across her shoulder, and regarded her with pleadingeyes. 

Marjorie stared thoughtfully into the earnest face of the girl at herside. What should she say? If she told Constance that Mary had twiceasked questions regarding her affairs, Constance might think Mary undulycurious. Perhaps, after all, silence was wisest. Mary might forget allabout it, and, in any case, she was far too sensible to feel hurt orindignant because she, Marjorie, was not free to tell her of theprivate affairs of another. 

"Promise me, Marjorie, that you won't say anything, " urged Constance. Her natural reticence made her dread taking even Mary into confidenceregarding herself. 

"I promise, Connie, " said Marjorie with a half sigh. "There, I guessthat flounce will stay in place. I've sewed it over and over. "

The two girls returned to the dance floor arm in arm. Mary Raymond'sblue eyes were turned on them resentfully as they entered the room. Theyhad been having a talk together, and hadn't asked her to join them. Thenher face cleared. She thought she knew what that talk was about. Marjorie had been asking Constance's permission to tell her everything. She would hear the great secret on the way home, no doubt. Her spiritsrose at the prospect of the comfy chat they would have in the automobileand for the rest of the evening she put aside all doubts and fears, anddanced as only sweet and seventeen can. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE LATEST SOPHOMORE ARRIVAL

Though the evening of the dance had been deceitfully clear and balmy, dark clouds banked the autumn sky before morning and the day broke in adownpour of rain. It was a doubly dreary morning to poor little MaryRaymond and over and over again Longfellow's plaintive lines, "Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary, "

repeated themselves in her brain. Yes, rain had indeed fallen into herlife. The bitter rain of false friendship. All the days must from now onbe dark and dreary. Last night she had danced the hours away, secure inthe thought that Marjorie would not fail her. And Marjorie had spoken noword of explanation. During the drive home she had talked gaily of thedance and of the boys and girls who had attended it. She had relatedbright bits of freshman history concerning them, but on the subject ofConstance Stevens and her affairs she had been mute. Mary fancied shehad purposely avoided the subject. In this respect she was quitecorrect. Marjorie, still a little disturbed over her promise toConstance, had tried to direct Mary's mind to other matters. Deeplyhurt, rather than jealous, Mary had listened to Marjorie in silence. Shemanaged to make a few comments on the dance, and pleading that she wastoo sleepy for a night-owl talk, had kissed Marjorie good night rathercoldly and hurried to her room. Stopping only to lock the door, she hadthrown herself on her bed in her pretty evening frock and given vent tolong, tearless sobs that left her wide awake and mourning, far into thenight. It was, therefore, not strange that lack of sleep, coupled withher supposed dire wrongs, had caused her to awaken that morning in amood quite suited to the gloom of the day. 

A vigorous rattling of the door knob caused her to spring from her bedwith a half petulant exclamation. 

"Let me in, Mary, " called Marjorie's fresh young voice from the hall. "Whatever made you lock your door? I guess you were so sleepy you didn'tknow what you were about. "

Mary turned the key and opened the door with a jerk. Marjorie pouncedupon her like a frolicsome puppy. Wrapping her arms around her chum, shewhirled her about and half the length of the room in a wild dance. 

"Let me alone, please. " Mary pulled herself pettishly from Marjorie'sclinging arms. 

"Why, Lieutenant, what's the matter? You aren't sick, are you? If youare, I'm sorry I was so rough. If you're just sleepy, then I'm not. Youneeded waking up. It's a quarter to eight now and we'll have to hustle. Captain let us sleep until the last minute. Now, which are you, sick orsleepy?"

"Both, " returned Mary laconically. "I--that is--my head aches. "

"Poor darling. Was Marjorie a naughty girl to tease her when her was sosick?" Marjorie sought to comfort her chum, but Mary eluded hersympathetic caress and said almost crossly, "Don't baby me. I--I hatebeing babied and you know it. "

Marjorie's arms dropped to her sides. "I didn't mean to tease you. I'msorry. I'll go down and ask Captain to give you something to cure yourheadache. " She turned abruptly and left the room, deeply puzzled andslightly hurt. What on earth ailed Mary?

The moment the door closed Mary pattered into the bathroom and bangedthe door. She hurried through her bath and was partly dressed whenMarjorie returned with a little bottle of aspirin tablets. "One ofthese will fix up your head, " she declared cheerily. 

"I don't want it, " muttered Mary. "My head is all right now. "

"That is what I would call a marvelous recovery, " laughed Marjorie. "Iwish Captain's headaches would take wing so easily. You know whatdreadful sick headaches she sometimes has. She had one on the first dayI went to Sanford High, and I had to go alone. "

"I remember, " nodded Mary carelessly. "That was one of the things you_did_ write me. "

"I wrote you lots of things, " retorted Marjorie lightly, failing tocatch the significance of Mary's words. "But now you are here, I don'thave to write them. I can _say_ them. "

"Then, why don't you?" was on Mary's tongue, but she did not say it. Instead, she maintained a half sulky silence, as she walked to thewardrobe and began fingering the gowns hung there. Selecting a blueserge dress, made sailor fashion, she slipped into it and beganfastening it as she walked to the mirror. Marjorie stood watching her, with a half frown. She did not understand this new mood of Mary's. TheMary she had formerly known had been sunny and light-hearted. The girlwho stood before the mirror, grave and unsmiling, was a stranger. 

"I'm ready to go downstairs. " Mary turned slowly from the mirror andwalked toward the door. Beneath her quiet exterior, a silent strugglewas going on. Should she speak her mind once and for all to Marjorie, orshould she go on enduring in silence? Perhaps it would be best to speakand have things out. Then, at least, they would understand each other. Then her pride whispered to her that it was Marjorie's and not her placeto speak. Marjorie must know something of her state of mind. At heartshe must be just the least bit ashamed of herself for shutting her outof her personal affairs. Had they not sworn long ago to tell each othertheir secrets. _She_ had always kept her word. It was Marjorie who hadfailed to do so. No, she would not humble herself. Marjorie might keepher secrets, for all _she_ cared. She was sorry that she had ever cometo Sanford. Now that she was here she would have to stay. If she wroteher father to take her away, her mother would have to be told. Mary wasresolved that no matter what happened to her, her mother must be sparedall anxiety. She would try to bear it. Marjorie should never know howdeeply she was wounded. She would pretend that all was as it had beenbefore. 

Mrs. Dean looked up from her letters, as the two girls entered thedining room. 

"Hurry, children, " she admonished. "You haven't much time to spare. These social affairs completely break up army discipline. Look out youdon't go to sleep at your post this morning. "

"Who's sleepy? Not I, " boasted Marjorie. "I feel as though I'd slept forhours and hours. Your army is ready for duty, Captain. Lieutenant Mary'sheadache has been put to rout and everything is lovely. "

"Are you sure you feel quite well, dear?" questioned Mrs. Deananxiously. She noted that Mary was very pale and that her eyes lookedstrained and tired. 

"I'm quite well now, thank you. " The ghost of a smile flickered on herpale face. 

"Did you enjoy the dance? It was nice in Connie to give it in yourhonor. We are all very fond of her and of little Charlie. "

Mary's wan face brightened at the mention of the child's name. "Isn't hedear?" she asked impulsively. 

"Mary has stolen Charlie from me, " put in Marjorie. "He adores heralready. I don't blame him. So do I, and so does Connie, too. We threeare going to have splendid times together this winter. "

During the rest of the breakfast Marjorie regaled her mother with anaccount of the dance. Mary said little or nothing, but amid her friend'smerry chatter her silence passed unnoticed. 

"Wear your raincoats, " called Mrs. Dean after them, as, their breakfastfinished, they ran upstairs for their wraps. 

Fifteen minutes later they had joined the bobbing umbrella processionthat wended its way into the high school building. 

"You'll have to go to Miss Merton, Mary, and be assigned to a seat. Shedidn't give you one yesterday, did she?" asked Marjorie. "You can putyour wraps in our locker. We are to have the same lockers we had lastyear. Connie and I have a locker together. There is lots of room in itfor your things, too. I'll task Marcia Arnold to let you in with us. Shehas charge of the lockers. "

Mary's first impulse was to decline this friendly offer. On secondthought she closed her lips tightly, resolved to make no protest. Later--well, there was no telling what might happen. 

"Don't be afraid of Miss Merton, " was Marjorie's whispered counsel, asthey crossed the threshold of the study hall. "She can't eat you. "

"I'm not afraid. " Mary's lip curled a trifle scornfully. Marjorietreated her as though she were a baby. 

"I have come to you for my seat, " was her terse statement, as she pausedsquarely before Miss Merton's desk. 

Miss Merton glanced up to meet the unflinching gaze of two purposelycold blue eyes. Something in their direct gaze made her answer withundue civility, "Very well. I will assign you to one. Come with me. "

She stalked down the aisle, Mary following, to the last seat in one ofthe two sophomore rows, and paused before it. "This will be your seatfor the year, " she said. 

"Thank you. " Mary sat down and took account of her surroundings. Acrossthe aisle on one side, Susan Atwell's dimpled face flashed her awelcome. On the other side sat a tall, severe junior who woreeye-glasses. The seat in front of her was vacant. Marjorie sat far downthe same row. Mary could just see the top of her curly head. It stilllacked five minutes of opening time and the students were, for the mostpart, conversing in low tones. Now and then an accidentally loud notecaused Miss Merton to raise her head from her writing and glare severelyat the offender. 

Susan Atwell leaned across the aisle and patted Mary's hand in friendlyfashion. "I'm so glad you are going to sit here, " she said in anundertone. "I was afraid Miss Merton would put some old slow-poke therewho wouldn't say 'boo' or pass notes or do anything to help thesophomore cause along. "

"I'm glad she put me near you, " returned Mary affably. She had made upher mind to win friends. They would be indispensable to her now that allwas over between her and Marjorie. "I don't imagine that tall girl isvery sociable. "

"She's a dig and a prig, " giggled Susan. "You'd get no recreation fromlabor from that quarter. "

Mary echoed Susan's infectious giggle. "Who sits in front of me?" sheasked. 

"No one, yet. Who knows what manner of girl is in store for us? That'sthe only vacant seat in the section. The first late arrival into ourmidst will get it. I don't believe we'll have any more girls, though, unless someone comes into school late as Marjorie came last year. It'stoo bad. It makes an awkward stretch if one wants to pass a note. Ialways am caught if I throw one. Last year I threw one and hit MissMerton in the back. She was standing quite a little way down the aisle. I thought it was a splendid opportunity. I'd been waiting to send one toIrma Linton, who sat two seats in front of me. The girl between uswouldn't pass it. So I threw it, and it went further than I thought. "Susan's fascinating giggle burst forth anew. She rocked to and fro inmerriment at the recollection. 

Mary found herself laughing in concert. Just then the opening bellclanged forth its harsh note of warning. The low buzz of voices in thegreat study hall died into silence. Every pair of eyes faced front. MissMerton rose from her chair to conduct the opening exercises. A suddenmurmur that swept the hall caused her to say sternly, "Silence. " Then, noting that the eyes of her pupils were fixed in concerted gaze on thestudy-hall door, she turned sharply. 

A black-haired, black-eyed girl, whose elfish face wore an expression ofmingled contempt and amusement, advanced into the room with a decidedair of one who wishes to create an impression. 

"Mignon!" gasped Susan. "Well, _what_ do you think of that?"

CHAPTER IX

THE BLINDNESS OF JEALOUSY

At sight of the newcomer Miss Merton's severe face underwent a lightningchange. She stepped from the platform and hurried toward the dark-eyedgirl with outstretched hand. Her harsh voice sounded almost pleasant, asshe said, "Why, Mignon, I am delighted to see you!"

Mignon La Salle tossed her head with an air of triumph as she took MissMerton's hand. In her, at least, she had a powerful ally. Lowering hervoice, the teacher asked her several questions. Mignon answered them inequally guarded tones, accompanied by the frequent significant gestureswhich are involuntary in those of foreign birth. 

A subdued buzzing arose from different parts of the study hall. Apparently engrossed in her conversation with the girl who had been herfavorite pupil during her freshman year, Miss Merton paid no attentionto the sounds provoked by Mignon La Salle's unexpected arrival. As amatter of fact, she was quite aware of them, but chose to ignore themsolely on Mignon's account. To rebuke the whisperers would tend towardembarrassing the French girl. 

"There is just one vacant place in the sophomore section, " she informedMignon. "I think I must have reserved it specially for you. " Shecontorted her face into what she believed to be an affable smile. 

Mignon answered it in kind, with an inimitable lifting of the eyebrowsand a significant shrug. 

"Look at her, " muttered Jerry Macy in Marjorie's ear. "MissMerton is taffying her up in great style. She always puts onher cat-that-ate-the-canary expression when she's pleased. And to think that we've got to stand for _her_ again thisyear!" Jerry gave a positive snort of disgust. 

"Shh! They'll hear you, Jerry, " warned Marjorie. 

"Don't care if they do. Wish they would, " grumbled the disgruntledJerry. "I'll bet you ten to one she was sent home from boarding school. "

There was a general turning of heads and craning of necks as Miss Mertonconducted Mignon down the aisle to the vacant seat in front of MaryRaymond. There was a brief exchange of low-toned words between the two, then Mignon seated herself, while Miss Merton marched stolidly back toher desk and without further delay began the interrupted morningexercises. 

Mary Raymond viewed the black, curly head and silken-clad shoulders ofthe newcomer with some curiosity. The subdued ripple of astonishmentthat had passed over the roomful of girls told her that here was noordinary pupil. Mignon's expensive frock of dark green Georgette crepe, elaborately trimmed, also pointed to affluence. Mary reasoned that shemust be known to the others. A stranger would not have created such abuzz of comment. Then, she remembered Susan's amazed exclamation. Sheturned to the latter and made a gesture of inquiry, Susan shook herhead. Her lips formed a silent, "After school, " and Mary noddedunderstandingly. 

"Young ladies, you will arrange your programme of recitations thismorning as speedily as possible, " was Miss Merton's command the momentopening exercises were over. "You will be given until ten o'clock to doso. Then there will be twenty-minute classes for the rest of themorning. Classes will occupy the usual period of time during theafternoon. Try to arrange your studies so that you will not have towaste valuable time in making changes. Please avoid asking unnecessaryquestions. The bulletin board will tell you everything, if you takepains to examine it carefully. Let there be no loud talking or personalconversation. "

Miss Merton sat down with the air of one who has done her duty, andglared severely at the rows of attentive young faces. She was not insympathy with these girls. Their youth was a distinct affront to hernarrow soul. 

The business of arranging the term's studies began in quiet, orderlyfashion. The majority of the pupils had long since decided upon theircourses of study. Their main duty now lay in making satisfactoryarrangements of their classes and the hours on which their variousrecitations fell. 

Marjorie Dean studied the bulletin board with a serious face. She hadsuccessfully carried five studies during her freshman year. She decidedthat she would do so again, provided the fifth subject held interestenough to warrant the extra effort it meant. Plane geometry, of course, she would have to take. Then there was second year French. She andConstance intended to go on with the language of which they were sofond. Her General had insisted that she must begin Latin. She shouldhave begun it in her freshman year. That made three. Then there waschemistry. Should she choose a fifth subject? Yes, there was EnglishLiterature. It would not be hard work. She was sure she would love it. Besides, she wished to be in Miss Flint's class. 

Once she had decided upon her subjects, she studied the board anew for aproper arrangement of her recitation hours. For a wonder they fittedinto one another beautifully, leaving her that last coveted period inthe afternoon, free for study. She sat back at last with a faint breathof satisfaction. She wondered how Mary was getting on and what sheintended to study. They had agreed beforehand on Chemistry. Only the daybefore Mr. Dean had half-promised to fit out a tiny laboratory for themin a small room at the rear of the house. 

Mary, however, was frowning darkly at the board. She wondered in whichsection Marjorie intended to recite geometry. She had been so busy withher own woes that gloomy morning that she had quite forgotten to planwith Marjorie. Oh, well, she reflected, what difference did it make?Marjorie wouldn't care whether they recited together or not. Very likelyshe had already made plans with that odious Constance Stevens that wouldleave her out. Marjorie had already said that she and Constanceintended to go on with French together. Then there were Cćsar'sCommentaries. She had finished first-year Latin. She would have to takethem next. Suddenly a naughty idea came into her perverse little brain. Why not purposely leave Marjorie out of her calculations? Marjorie hadwished her to take chemistry. Very well. She would disappoint her bychoosing something else. Then if Mr. Dean fitted out a laboratory, hisdaughter would have the pleasure of working in it all by herself. Shewould show a certain person what it meant to cast aside a lifelongfriendship. Oh, yes, Marjorie was anxious for her to take Englishliterature. She would take rhetoric instead. She would go still further. If when classes assembled she found herself in the same geometry sectionwith her chum she would make an excuse and change to another period ofrecitation. The frown deepened on her smooth forehead as she jotted downher subjects on the sheet of paper before her. 

Suddenly conscious of the intent regard of someone, she raised her head. A pair of elfish black eyes were fixed upon her in curious intent. 

"Who are you?" asked Mignon La Salle with cool impudence. "You look likethat priggish Miss Stevens. I hope for your sake you are not a relativeof hers. "

"Most certainly I am not, " retorted Mary, flushing angrily. It was tooprovoking. Why must she be constantly reminded of her resemblance to oneshe disliked so intensely? In her annoyance at the nature of the Frenchgirl's remarks, she quite overlooked the impertinence of her address. 

A gleam of satisfaction flashed across Mignon's face. "Then there ishope, " she returned, holding up her forefinger in an impish imitation ofa world-wide advertisement. "Say it again. I can't believe the evidenceof my own ears. "

"I am not a relative of Miss Stevens, " repeated Mary a trifle stiffly. The French girl's mocking tones were distinctly unpleasant. "Why do youask?"

"Because I wish to know, " shrugged Mignon Then she added tactfully, "Please don't think me rude. I am always too frank in expressing myopinions. If I dislike anyone I can't smile deceitfully and pretend themto be my dearest friend. "

Mary's sullen face cleared. Here at last was a girl who seemed to besincere. She unbent slightly and smiled. Mignon returned the smile inher most amiable fashion. 

"Pardon me for a moment. " Mignon turned in her seat and began fumblingin a little leather bag that lay on her desk. 

Mary felt a quick, light touch on her arm. Susan Atwell began makingviolent signs at her behind Mignon's back. She desisted as suddenly asshe began. The French girl had turned again toward Mary with the quick, cat-like manner that so characterized all her movements. 

"Here is my card, " she offered, placing a bit of engraved pasteboard onMary's desk. 

The latter picked it up and read, "Mignon Adrienne La Salle. "

"What a pretty name!" was her soft exclamation. 

"I'm glad you like it, " beamed Mignon. "But you haven't told me yours. "

"I haven't any cards with me, " apologized Mary. "My name is MaryRaymond. "

"Have you lived long in Sanford?" inquired Mignon suavely. She hadalready decided that a girl who was in sympathy with her on one pointmight prove to be worth cultivating. 

"Only a short time. My mother is in Colorado for her health and I amliving in Marjorie Dean's home until Mother returns next summer. "

Mary's innocent words had an electrical effect on the French girl. Herheavy brows drew together in a scowl and her dark face set in hardlines. 

"Then that settles it, " she said coldly. "You and I can _never_ befriends. " She switched about in her seat with an angry jerk. 

Mary leaned forward and touched her on the shoulder. "I don'tunderstand, " she murmured. "Please tell me what you mean. "

The French girl swung halfway about. She regarded Mary with narrowedeyes. Was it possible that Marjorie Dean had never mentioned her to herfriend?

"Hasn't Miss Dean ever spoken to you of me?" she asked abruptly. 

Mary shook her head. "No, I am sure I never before heard of you. I don'tknow many Sanford girls yet. I have met Miss Atwell and Miss Macy and afew others who were at Miss Stevens' dance last night. "

"So, Miss Stevens is doing social stunts, " sneered Mignon. "Quite achange from last year, I should say. I used to be friends with SusanAtwell and Jerry Macy, but this Stevens girl made mischief between usand broke up our old crowd entirely. Your friend, Miss Dean, took sideswith them, too, and helped the thing along. She made a perfect idiot ofherself over Constance Stevens. Oh, well, never mind. I'm not going tosay another word about it. I'm sorry we can't be friends. I'm sure we'dget along famously together. It is impossible, though. Miss Deanwouldn't let you. "

Mary suddenly sat very erect. She had listened in amazement to Mignon'srecital. Could she believe her ears? Had her hitherto-beloved Marjoriebeen guilty of trouble-making? And all for the sake of ConstanceStevens. Marjorie must indeed care a great deal for her. She had notbeen mistaken, then, in her belief that she had been supplanted in herchum's heart. And now Mignon was suggesting that Marjorie would notallow her to be friends with the girl whom she had wronged. Mary did notstop to consider that there are always two sides to a story. Swayed byher resentment against Constance, she preferred to believe anythingwhich she might hear against her. 

"Please understand, once and for all, that Marjorie has nothing to sayabout whoever I choose to have for a friend, " she said with decision. "Ihope I am free to do as I please. I shall be very glad to know youbetter, Miss La Salle, and I am sorry that you have been so badlytreated. "

The ringing of the first recitation-bell broke in upon the conversation. 

"Oh, gracious, I haven't looked at the bulletin board. Excuse me, MissRaymond. I'll see you later and we'll have a nice long talk. I'm sure Ishall be pleased to have _you_ for a friend. "

"Are you going to recite geometry in this first section?" asked Maryeagerly. The students were already filing out of the great room. 

"Let me see. " Mignon consulted the bulletin board. "Why, yes, I might aswell. "

"Oh, splendid!" glowed Mary. "Then you can show me the way to thegeometry classroom. "

"Delighted, I'm sure, " returned Mignon. Her black eyes sparkled withtriumph. At last she had found a way to even her score with MarjorieDean. With almost uncanny shrewdness she had divined what Marjorieherself had not discovered. This blue-eyed baby of a girl, for Mignonmentally characterized her as such, was jealous of Marjorie's friendshipwith the Stevens girl. Very well. She would take a hand and help mattersalong. Of course there was a strong chance that it might all come tonothing. Marjorie might take Mary in charge the moment school was overand tell her a few things. Yet that was hardly possible. Much as shehated the brown-eyed girl who had worsted her at every point, in her owncowardly heart lurked a respect for Marjorie's high standard of honor. So far Mary knew nothing against her. Perhaps she would never know. Perhaps if Marjorie and Jerry and Irma tried to prejudice Mary againsther, the girl would rebel and send them about their business. She hadlooked stupidly obstinate when she said, "I hope I am free to do as Iplease. " Mignon smiled maliciously as she walked down the long aisleahead of Mary. 

Marjorie had risen from her seat at the sound of the first bell. Now shegazed anxiously up the aisle toward Mary's seat. She looked relieved asshe saw her chum approaching. She bowed coldly to Mignon as she passed. "Oh, Mary, " she said, "I was looking for you. If you are going to recitegeometry now, then please don't go. Wait and recite in my section. Youknow, we said we'd recite it together. "

Mary's blue eyes glowed resentfully. "I've made up my programme, " sheanswered with cool defiance. "I can't change it now. Miss La Salle isgoing to show me the way to the geometry classroom. I'll see you later. "

Without waiting for a reply she marched on, leaving Marjorie to stareafter her with troubled eyes. 

CHAPTER X

THE VALLEY OF MISUNDERSTANDING

For a brief instant Marjorie continued to stare after the retreatingform of her chum, oblivious to the steady stream of girls passing byher. Then, seized with a sudden idea, she slipped into her seat andhastily consulted the bulletin board. The ringing of the third bellfound her hurrying from the aisle toward the door. That brief survey ofthe schedule had resulted in an entire change of her programme. She haddecided to recite geometry in the morning section. It meant giving upthe cherished last hour in the afternoon which she had reserved forstudy. She would have to recite Latin at that time. Well, that did notmatter so much. Reciting geometry in the same section with Mary was whatcounted. She had experienced a curious feeling of alarm as she hadwatched Mary and Mignon La Salle disappear through the big doorway sideby side. Mignon was the last person she had supposed Mary would meet. Tobe sure, there was nothing particularly alarming in their meeting. Asyet they were comparative strangers to each other. She had noted thatMiss Merton had assigned the French girl to the seat in front of Mary. It was, therefore, quite probable that Mary had inquired the way to thegeometry classroom and Mignon had volunteered to conduct her to it. 

Marjorie's sober face lightened a little as she hastened down thecorridor to the geometry room. Miss Nelson, the instructor inmathematics, was on the point of closing the door as she hurriedlyapproached. She smiled as she saw the pretty sophomore, and continued tohold the door open until Marjorie had crossed the threshold. The lattergave an eager glance about the room. The classrooms were provided withrows of single desks similar to those in the study hall. Mary wasoccupying one of them well toward the front of the room. Directly aheadof her sat the French girl. On one of the back seats was Jerry Macy, glaring in her most savage manner, her angry eyes fixed on the black, curly head of the girl she despised. 

There was no vacant seat near Mary. Marjorie noted all these facts inthat one comprehensive glance. It also seemed to her that the Frenchgirl's face wore an expression of mocking triumph. And was it herimagination, or had Mary glanced up as she entered and then turned awayher eyes? What did it all mean? Marjorie took the nearest vacant seat athand, the prey of many emotions. Then, as Miss Nelson stepped forward toaddress the class, she resolutely put away all personal matters and, with the fine attention to the business of study which had endeared herto her various teachers during her freshman year, she strove to centerher troubled mind on what Miss Nelson was saying. 

After a short preliminary talk on the importance of the study the classwas about to begin, Miss Nelson proceeded to the business of registeringher pupils and giving out the text books. Miss Nelson laid particularstress on the thorough learning of all definitions pertaining to thestudy in hand. "You must know these definitions so well that you couldsay them backward if I requested it, " she emphasized. "They will be ofgreatest importance in your work to come. " Then she heartlessly gave outseveral pages of them for the advance lesson. The rest of the period shespent in going over and explaining these same definitions in her usualthorough manner, ending with the stern injunction that she expected aletter-perfect recitation on the following morning. 

"Miss Nelson doesn't want much, " grumbled Jerry Macy in Irma Linton'sear, as they filed out of class at the ringing of the bell which endedthe period. Then, before Irma had time to reply, she continued: "_What_do you think of Mignon? Isn't it a shame she's back again? And did yousee her march in here with Mary Raymond? It's a pretty sure thing thatneither of them knows who is who in Sanford. I suppose Mary, poorinnocent, asked her the way to the classroom. Where was Marjorie allthat time, I wonder? I'll bet you a box of Huyler's that they won't walkinto geometry again to-morrow morning. Hurry up, there's Marjorie justahead of us with Mary now. The fair Mignon has vanished. I can see heraway ahead of them. I guess Marjorie didn't know who piloted Mary intoclass. She came in last, you know. "

Irma laid a detaining hand on Jerry's arm. 

"Oh, wait until after school, Jerry, " she counseled. This quiet, unobtrusive girl was a keen observer. She had noted Marjorie'shalf-troubled expression as she entered the room. The suspicion thatMarjorie knew and was not pleased had already come to her. 

"All right, I will. Wish school was out now. Those geometry definitionsmake me tired. I'm worn out already and school hasn't fairly begun yet. I hate mathematics. Wouldn't look at a geometry if I could graduatewithout it. "

But while Jerry was anathematizing mathematics, Marjorie was sayingearnestly to Mary, whom she had joined at the door, "I am so sorry Ididn't come back to your seat in the study hall before the first bellrang. I really ought to have asked permission to do so, but I was afraidMiss Merton would say 'no. ' She never loses a chance to be horrid to me. When you said you were going to recite in this section I hurried andchanged my programme to make things come right for us. "

Marjorie's earnest little speech, so full of apparent good will, broughta quick flush of contrition to Mary's cheeks. She experienced a swiftspasm of regret for her bitter suspicion of Marjorie. Her tense facesoftened. Why not unburden herself to her chum now and find relief fromher torture of doubt?

"Marjorie, " she began, laying her hand lightly on her friend's arm, "Iwish you would tell me something. Miss La Salle said that ConstanceStevens----"

"Mary!" Marjorie's sunny face had suddenly grown very stern. "I am sorryto have to speak harshly of any girl in Sanford High, but as your chumI feel it my duty to ask you to have nothing to do with Mignon La Salle, or pay the slightest attention to her. She made us all very unhappy lastyear, particularly Constance and myself. I can't help saying it, but Iam sorry that she has come back to Sanford. I understood that she was atboarding school. I am sure I wish she had stayed there. " Marjorie spokewith a bitterness quite foreign to her generous nature. 

Mary's lips tightened obstinately as she listened. Her brief impulsetoward a frank understanding died with Marjorie's emphatic utterance. She was inwardly furious at her chum's sharp interruption. 

"I am very well aware that you would stand up for Miss Stevens, whethershe were in the right or in the wrong, " she said with cold sarcasm. "I've been seeing that ever since I came to Sanford. But just becauseshe is perfect in _your_ eyes is not reason why _I_ should think so. Formy part, I like Miss La Salle. She was awfully sweet to me this morning, and I don't think it is nice in you to talk about her behind her back. "

In the intensity of the moment both girls had stopped short in thecorridor, oblivious of the passing students. Mary's flashing blue eyesfixed Marjorie's amazed brown ones in an angry gaze. 

"Why, Ma-a-ry!" stammered Marjorie. "What _is_ the matter? I don'tunderstand you. " Her bewilderment served only to increase the rancorthat had been smouldering in Mary's heart. Now it burst forth in a furyof words. 

"Don't pretend, Marjorie Dean. You know perfectly well what I mean. Itisn't necessary for me to tell you, either. When I came to Sanford tolive with you I thought I'd be the happiest girl in the world because Iwas going to live at your house and go to school with you. If I hadknown as much when Father and I came to see you as I know now--well, Iwouldn't--ever--have come back again!" Her anger-choked tones faltered. She turned away her head. Then pulling herself sharply together, sheturned and hurried down the corridor. 

For a second Marjorie stood rooted to the spot. Could she believe herears? Was it really Mary, her soldier chum, with whom she had stoodshoulder to shoulder for so many years, who had thus arraigned her? Herinstant of inaction past, she darted down the corridor after Mary. Butthe latter passed into the study hall before she could overtake her. Shecould do nothing now to straighten the tangle in which they had sosuddenly become involved until the morning session of school was over. She glanced anxiously toward Mary's seat the moment she stepped acrossthe threshold of the study hall, only to see her friend in earnestconversation with Mignon La Salle. An angry little furrow settled on herusually placid brow. Mignon had lost no time in living up to herreputation. Mary must be rescued from her baleful influence at once. When they reached home that day she would tell her chum the whole storyof last year. Once Mary learned Mignon's true character she would seematters in a different light. But what had the French girl said aboutConstance? If only she had held her peace and not interrupted Mary. Evenas a little girl Marjorie remembered how hard it had been, once Mary wasangry, to discover the cause. In spite of her usual good-nature she wasunyieldingly stubborn. When, at rare intervals, she became displeased orhurt over a fancied grievance, she would nurse her anger for days insulky silence. 

"I'll tell her all about last year the minute we get into the house thisnoon, " resolved Marjorie. "When she knows how badly Mignon behavedtoward Connie----" The little girl drew a sharp breath of dismay. Intoher mind flashed her recent promise to Constance Stevens. She could tellMary nothing until she had permission to do so. That meant that for theday, at least, she must remain mute, for Constance was not in schoolthat morning, nor would she be in during the day. She had receivedspecial permission from Miss Archer to be excused from lessons while herfoster father was at Gray Gables. 

It was a very sober little girl who wended her way to the French class, her next recitation. Out of an apparently clear sky the miserable set ofcircumstances frowned upon her dawning sophomore year. But it must comeright. She would go to Gray Gables that very afternoon and ask Constanceto release her from her promise. Connie would surely be willing to doso, when she knew all. Comforted by this thought, Marjorie brightenedagain. 

"_Bon jour_, Mademoiselle Dean, " greeted the cheerful voice of ProfessorFontaine as she entered his classroom. "It is with a great plaisurethat I see you again. Let us 'ope that you haf not forgottaine yourFrench, I trost you haf sometimes remembered _la belle langue_ duringyour vacation. " The little man beamed delightedly upon Marjorie. 

"I am afraid I have forgotten a great deal of it, Professor Fontaine. "Marjorie spoke with the pretty deference that she always accorded thislong-suffering professor, whose strongly accented English and foreigneccentricities made him the subject of many ill-timed jests on the partof his thoughtless pupils. "I'm going to study hard, though, and it willsoon come back to me. "

"Ah! These are the words it makes happiness to hear, " he returnedamiably. "Some day, when you haf learned to spik the French as theEnglish, you will be glad that you haf persevered. "

"I'm sure I shall, " smiled Marjorie. Then, as several entering pupilsclaimed the little man's attention, she passed on and took a vacant seatat the back of the room. 

Professor Fontaine had begun to address the class when the door openedand Mignon La Salle sauntered in. She threw a quick, derisive glance athis back, which caused several girls to giggle, then strolled calmly toa seat. A shade of annoyance clouded the instructor's genial face. Heeyed his countrywoman severely for an instant, then went on with hisspeech. 

Marjorie received little benefit that morning from the professor'sgallant efforts to impress the importance of the study of his languageon the minds of his class. Her thoughts were with Mary and what she hadbest say to conciliate her. She had as yet no inkling of the truth. Shedid not dream that jealousy of Constance had prompted Mary's outburst. She believed that the whole trouble lay in whatever Mignon had toldMary. 

She was more hurt than surprised when at the last period in the morningshe failed to find Mary in the chemistry room. Of course she might haveexpected it. Nothing would be right until she had chased away the blackclouds of misunderstanding that hung over them. Still, it grieved her tothink that Mary had not trusted her enough to weigh her loyalty againstthe gossip of a stranger. 

The hands of the study hall clock, pointing the hour of twelve, broughtrelief to the worried sophomore. The instant the closing bell rang shemade for the locker room. It would be better to wait for Mary there, rather than in the corridor. If Mary's mood had not changed, shepreferred not to run the risk of a possible rebuff in so prominent aplace. There were too many curious eyes ready to note their slightestact. It would be dreadful if some lynx-eyed girl were to mark them andcirculate a report that they were quarreling. 

Arrived at the locker-room, she opened her locker and took out herwraps. A faint gasp of astonishment broke from her. Only one rain-coat, one hat and one pair of rubbers were there, where at the beginning ofthe morning there had been two. Mary Raymond's belongings were gone. 

CHAPTER XI

CHOOSING HER OWN WAY

Marjorie stood staring at her locker as one in a dream. 

"Hurry up, Marjorie!" Jerry Macy's loud, matter-of-fact tones broke thespell. Behind her were Irma Linton and Susan Atwell. The faces of thethree were alive with suppressed excitement. Jerry caught sight of thetell-tale locker and emitted an indignant snort. 

"Mary took her advice, Susie! If I were the President of the UnitedStates I'd have that Mignon La Salle deported to the South Sea Islands, or Kamchatka, or some place where she couldn't get back in a hurry. Itwould be a good deal farther than boarding school, I can just tell you, "she ended with an angry sputter. 

Marjorie faced the battery of indignant young faces. "What is thetrouble, girls?" She tried to keep her voice steady, though she was atthe point of tears. 

"What's the matter with your friend, Mary Raymond, Marjorie?" continuedJerry in a slightly lower key. "Has she gone suddenly crazy or--or----"Jerry hesitated. She could not voice the other question which rose toher lips. 

"Girls, " Marjorie viewed her friends with brave, direct eyes, "you knowsomething that I don't about Mary. What is it?"

"It's about Mignon, " blurted Jerry. "Susie says that the minute shelanded in her seat she began talking to Mary. "

"I made signs to Mary to pay no attention to her, " broke in SusanAtwell, "but she didn't understand what I meant and I couldn't explain, with Mignon sitting right there. The next thing I saw, they were walkingdown the aisle together as though they'd known each other all theirlives. "

"Yes, and they came into geometry together, too, " supplemented Jerry. "But that's not the worst. Tell Marjorie what you overheard, Susie. "

"Well, " began Susan, looking important, "when I came back to the studyhall just before the last class was called, they were both there aheadof me. Just as I was going to sit down at my desk I heard Mignon tellMary she'd love to have her share her locker. Mary was looking awfullysober and pretty cross, too, as though she were mad about something. Iheard her say, 'How can I get my wraps?' and Mignon said, 'Go to MarciaArnold and see if you can borrow Miss Stevens' key for a minute. If shehasn't come back to school yet, very likely Marcia has it. Tell her youwant to take something from it and don't care to bother Miss Dean. Youcan easily do it, because you haven't a recitation at this hour. I'd getit for you, but I haven't any good reason for asking her for it. ' Icouldn't hear what Mary said, but she left her seat and I saw her stopat Miss Merton's desk. Miss Merton nodded her head and Mary went on outof the study hall. Mignon saw me looking after her and smiled thathateful smile of hers. I was so cross I made a face at her. Then thethird bell rang and I had to go to class. I wasn't sure whether Mary didas Mignon told her to do until we saw you staring into your locker andJerry called my attention to it. "

Marjorie listened gravely to Susan's recital. She stood surveying thethree girls in silence. 

"What has happened, Marjorie?" questioned Jerry impatiently. "Or isn'tit any of our business? If it isn't, then forget that I asked you. "

"Girls, " Marjorie's clear voice trembled a little, "I think I'd bettertell you about it. At first I thought I couldn't bear to tell anyone, but as long as you all know something of what happened to Connie and Ilast year, you might as well know this, too. Miss Archer made a remarkto me about our misunderstanding yesterday when Mary was with me. Maryasked me afterward what she meant. I wanted to tell her, but I didn'tfeel as though I had the right to, until I asked Connie if I could. Iwas going to ask her last night, but before I had a chance she asked menot to tell Mary about it. She was afraid Mary might not understandand--and blame her. Of course, I knew that Mary wouldn't mind in theleast, but Connie seemed so worried that I promised I wouldn't. "

Jerry Macy's frown deepened. Susan Atwell made a faint gesture ofconsternation, while Irma Linton looked distressed and sympathetic. 

"I thought perhaps Mary would forget about Constance, " went on Marjorie. "I never dreamed that Mignon was coming back, let alone she and Marybecoming friendly. I saw them go down the aisle to geometry classtogether and followed them. You see, Mary and I had planned to recite inthe same section. I asked her to wait and recite later, but shewouldn't. Then I changed my hour so as to be in her class. After class Icaught up with her. She began to tell me something about what Mignon hadsaid of Connie. It made me so cross that I interrupted her, almostbefore she had started. I told her she must have nothing to say toMignon and--she--I guess I hurt her feelings, for she walked offand--left--me. " Marjorie ended with a half sob. She turned her face tothe locker and leaned against it. The tears that she had bravely forcedback now came thick and fast. 

"What a shame!" burst forth Jerry. "Don't cry, dear. We'll straightenthings out for you. I'll go to Mary my own self and give her Mignon'shistory in a few well chosen words. " She patted the shoulder of theweeping girl. 

"You might know that Mignon would bring trouble, hateful girl, " wasSusan's indignant cry. "Never mind, we'll fix her. "

"I'll do all I can to help you, Marjorie, " soothed Irma, who was knownthroughout the school as a peace-maker. 

With a long, quivering sigh Marjorie turned slowly and faced herfriends. 

"You are very sweet to me, every one of you, " she said gratefully, "but, girls, you mustn't say a word. I promised Connie, and I'll keep my worduntil she releases me from that promise. I'm going over to see herto-night to ask her to do that very thing. She'll say 'yes, ' I know. Then I can tell Mary and it will be all right. I'm sorry I made such ababy of myself, but Mary and I have been chums for years--and----" Hervoice broke again. 

Jerry wound her plump arms about the girl she adored. "You poor kid, "she comforted slangily. "If you must cry, cry on my shoulder. It's niceand fat and not half so hard as that old locker. "

"You are a ridiculous Jerry, " Marjorie laughed through her tears. "There, I feel better now. I'm not going to cry another tear. Are myeyes very red? I don't care to have the public gape at my grief. Comeon, children. It must be long after twelve. I suppose Mary is home bythis time. Naturally she wouldn't wait for me, " she added wistfully. 

As a matter of fact, Mary had waited. Once she had removed her wraps toMignon's locker she had been seized with a sharp attack of conscience. She felt a trifle ashamed of herself and decided that she would ask herchum to forgive her and allow her to put her wraps in Marjorie's lockeragain. At the close of the session she made a hasty excuse to Mignon, seized her belongings and hurrying out of the building, took up herstand across the street. When at twenty minutes past twelve Marjorie didnot appear, her good resolutions took wing, and sulkily setting her facetoward home, Mary left the school and the chance for reconciliationbehind, and angrily went her way alone, thus widening the gap thatalready yawned between herself and Marjorie. 

It was twenty minutes to one when the latter ran up the steps of herhome in an almost cheerful frame of mind. The hall door yielded to hertouch and she rushed into the hall, her clear call of "Mary!" re-echoingthrough the quiet house. 

"I'll be down in a minute, " answered a cold voice from the head of thestairs. 

"I'll be up in a second, " laughed Marjorie, making a dive for thestairs. The next instant she had caught the immovable little figure atthe landing in an impulsive embrace. "Poor old Lieutenant, I'm sosorry, " was her contrite cry. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Listen, dear. I'm going over to see Connie this afternoon after schooland ask her to let me tell you everything you wished to know about lastyear. Then you will understand why----"

Mary freed herself from the clinging arms with a jerk. "If you say aword to Constance Stevens, I'll never forgive you!" she criedpassionately. "I won't be made ridiculous. Do you understand me? Youcould tell me without asking her, if you cared to. I'd never say a wordand she'd never know the difference. "

"But, Mary, I promised her----" Marjorie stopped in confusion. She hadnot meant to mention her promise to Constance. She had spoken before shethought. 

"So _that's_ the reason, is it?" choked Mary, her cheeks flaming withthe humiliating knowledge. "Thank you, I don't care to hear your oldsecrets. You may keep them, for all I care!" She whirled and startedtoward her room. 

Marjorie caught her arm. "I haven't any secrets that I wish to keep fromyou, Mary, " she said with quiet dignity. "Last night at the danceConstance asked me to promise I wouldn't say anything to you about thetrouble she had with Mignon La Salle during our freshman year. We wereupstairs in her room. I was mending my flounce. It got torn when we weredancing. I had intended asking her permission then to tell you, and whenshe spoke of it first I hardly knew what to do. I didn't like to let herthink that you were curious and----"

"How dare you call me curious!" Mary stamped her foot in a sudden furyof temper. "I'm not. I wouldn't listen to your miserable secret if youbegged me to. Now I truly believe what Miss La Salle told me. You andyour friend Constance ought to be ashamed of the way you treated thatpoor girl last year. I'm sorry I ever came to your house to live. I'dwrite to Father to come and take me away, but Mother would have to know. She sha'n't be worried, no matter what I have to stand. You needn't beafraid, I'll not make a fuss, either, so that General and Captain willknow. I'll try to pretend before them that we're just the same chums asever, and you'd better pretend it, too. But we won't be. From to-day onI'll go _my_ way and choose _my_ friends and you can do the same. "

"Mary Raymond, listen to me. " Marjorie's hands found the shoulders ofher angry chum. The brown eyes held the blue ones in a long, steadfastgaze. "Mignon La Salle is only trying to make trouble. If you knew heras well as I know her, you wouldn't pay any attention to her. We'vebeen best friends and comrades since we were little tots, Mary, and Ithink you ought to trust me. No one can ever be so dear to me as youare. "

"Except Constance Stevens, " put in Mary sarcastically, twisting fromMarjorie's hold. "Why, that very first day when you came to the train tomeet me I could see you liked her best. You can imagine how I felt wheneven your friends spoke of it. If you really cared about me, you wouldhave written to me of every single thing that happened last year. Youpromised you would. You are very anxious to keep a promise to Constance, but you didn't care whether you kept one to me. As for what you say ofMiss La Salle, I don't believe you. I'd far rather trust her than yourdear Miss Stevens!"

"What has happened to my brigade?" called Mrs. Dean from the foot of thestairs. "It is five minutes to one, girls. Come to luncheon at once. "

"We are coming, Captain, " answered Marjorie in as steady a tone as shecould command. Then she said sorrowfully to her companion, "Mary, I feeljust the same toward you as always, only I am terribly hurt. I wish yourway to be my way and your friends mine. If you are sure that you wouldlike Mignon for a friend, then I am going to try to like her for yoursake. But we mustn't quarrel or--not--not speak--or--let General andCaptain know--that----" Marjorie's words died in a half-sob. 

"It doesn't make any difference to me whether you like Miss La Salle ornot, " retorted Mary, ignoring Marjorie's distress, "but if you say asingle word to either General or Captain about us, I'll never speak toyou again. " With this threat the incensed lieutenant ran heartlesslydown the stairs, leaving her sadly wounded comrade to follow when shewould. 

Luncheon was a dismal failure as far as Marjorie was concerned. Shetried to talk and laugh in her usual cheery manner, but she was unusedto dissembling, and it hurt her to play a part before her Captain, ofall persons. Mary, however, found a certain wicked satisfaction in thesituation she had brought about. Now that she had spoken her mind shewould go on in the way she had chosen. Marjorie would be very sorry. There would come a time when she would be only too glad to plead for thefriendship she had cast aside. But it would be too late. 

The moment the two girls left the house for the afternoon session ofschool, a blank silence fell upon them. It was broken only by a cool"Good-bye" from Mary as they separated in the locker room. But duringthat silent walk Marjorie had been thinking busily. Hers was a naturethat no amount of disagreeable shocks could dismay for long. No soonerdid a pet ideal totter than she steadied it with patient, tender hands. True always to the highest, she was laying a foundation that wouldweather the stress of years. Now she dwelt not so much upon her ownhurts, but rather on how she should bind up the wounds of her comrades. What had been obscure was now plain. Mary was jealous of her friendshipwith Constance. She had completely misunderstood. If only she, Marjorie, had known in the beginning! And then there was Mignon. If she had stayedaway from Sanford, all might have been well in time. Mary was determinedto be friends with her. Marjorie knew her friend too well not to believethat Mary would now cultivate the French girl from sheer obstinacy. There was just one thing to do. She had said to Mary that she would tryto like Mignon for her sake. She stood ready to keep her promise. Perhaps, far under her mischief-making exterior, Mignon's better selflay dormant, waiting for some chance, kindly word or act to awaken itinto life. What was it her General had said about the worst personhaving some good in his nature that sooner or later was sure to manifestitself? How glorious it would be to help Mignon find that better self!But she could not accomplish much alone. She needed the support of thegirls of her own particular little circle. She was fairly sure theywould help her. But how had they better begin? Suddenly Marjorie's soberface broke into a radiant smile. She gave a chuckle born of sheergood-will. "I know the very way, " she murmured, half aloud. "If only thegirls will see it, too. But they _must_! It's a splendid plan, and if itdoesn't work it won't be from lack of trying on my part. "

CHAPTER XII

THE COMPACT

 "DEAR IRMA, " wrote Marjorie, the moment she reached her desk, "will you meet me across the street from school this afternoon? I have something very important to say to you. 

 "MARJORIE. "

She wrote similar notes to Muriel Harding, Susan Atwell and Jerry Macy, managing in spite of the watchful eyes of Miss Merton to convey them, through the medium of willing hands, to her schoolmates. This done, shemade a valiant effort to dismiss her personal affairs from her thoughtsand settled down to her lessons. The first period in the afternoon wasnow her study hour, due to the change she had made in her geometryrecitation. 

Marjorie managed to study diligently for at least twenty minutes, on thedefinitions in geometry given out by Miss Nelson as an advance lesson. Then her attention flagged. She found herself wondering what she hadbetter do in regard to asking Constance to release her from her promise. She was sure Connie would do it. Then, if Mary could be coaxed to listento her, she would---- Marjorie took a deep breath of sheer dismay. Ofwhat use would it be to plan to help Mignon find her better self, thendeliberately turn the one girl who liked her against her by relatingher past misdeeds? Here indeed was a problem. She knitted her brows introubled thought over this new knot in the tangle. One thing she wasresolved upon, however. She would open her heart to Connie. Perhaps shemight be able to suggest a satisfactory adjustment. 

The afternoon dragged interminably to the perplexed sophomore and shehailed the ringing of the closing bell with thankfulness. She had caughtdistant glimpses of Mary during the session and in each instance hadseen her in conversation with the French girl. Mignon was losing notime. That was certain. 

As Marjorie rose from her seat to leave the study hall she had half amind to wait just outside the door for Mary. Then a flash of woundedpride held her back. Mary would undoubtedly pass out with Mignon. If shespoke to her chum, she was almost sure to be rebuffed. She could imaginejust how delighted Mignon would look at her discomfiture. Unconsciouslylifting her head, Marjorie left the study hall without so much as abackward glance. 

Outside the door she encountered Jerry Macy. 

"Your note said, 'Wait across the street, ' but this is a lot better, "greeted Jerry. "Let's hurry and get our wraps. Irma and Susie willprobably steer straight for your locker. I haven't seen Muriel to speakto this afternoon, but she'll be on the scene, I guess. The sooner wecollect the sooner we'll hear what's on your mind. I can just about tellyou what you're going to say, though. "

"Then you're a mind-reader, " laughed Marjorie. Nevertheless, a quickflash rose to her face at Jerry's significant speech. 

"I can add two and two, anyhow, " asserted Jerry. 

True to Jerry's prediction, three curious young women stood grouped infront of Marjorie's locker, impatiently awaiting her arrival. 

"Wait until we are outside, girls. I'll be ready in a jiffy. " Marjorieslipped into her raincoat and pulled her blue velour hat over her curls. "We can't talk here. Miss Merton is likely to wander down, and then youknow what will happen. "

"Oh, bother Miss Merton!" grumbled Jerry. "I can stand anything she saysand live. Still, I don't blame you, Marjorie. It tickles her to piecesto get a chance to snap at you. Now if Mignon La Salle wanted to sing asolo in front of her locker at the top of her voice, Miss Merton wouldencore it. "

Susan Atwell giggled. "I can just hear Mignon lifting up her voice insong with Miss Merton as an appreciative audience. "

The quartette thoughtlessly echoed her merriment. So intent were theyupon their own affairs that they did not notice the two girls who werealmost hidden behind an open locker at the end of the room. The blackeyes of one of them gleamed with rage. She turned to the fair-hairedgirl at her side with a gesture which said more plainly than words, "Yousee for yourself. " The other nodded. Mignon laid a finger on her lips. Then noiselessly as two shadows they flitted through the open doorwithout having been observed by the group at the other end. 

For the moment Marjorie's back had been turned toward that end of theroom. She whirled about just too late to see Mignon and Mary as theyhurried away. Unusually sensitive to impressions, she had perhaps felttheir presence, for she asked abruptly, "Girls, have you seen Mary? Shecan't have gone, for I'm sure I left the study hall before she did. Iought to wait for her, but I don't know what to do. " She glancedirresolutely about her. Then, her pride again coming to her rescue, shesaid, "Never mind. Suppose we go on. Perhaps I'd better not try to seeher now, because I must tell you my plan and I--well--I can't--if she iswith us. "

Muriel Harding elevated her eyebrows in surprise. Of the four girls whohad received Marjorie's notes, she alone had no suspicion of the purposewhich had brought them together. 

Five pairs of bright eyes scanned the street across from the schoolbuilding as the little party came down the wide stone steps. 

"The coast is clear, " commented Jerry. "Now do tell us what's thematter, Marjorie. No, wait a minute. " Jerry fumbled energetically in asmall leather bag. "Hooray! Here's a real life fifty-cent piece! I cansee it vanishing in the shape of five sundaes, at ten cents per eat. Wecan't go to Sargent's. They cost fifteen----"

"I've a quarter, " insinuated Irma. 

"All contributions thankfully received, " beamed Jerry. "On to Sargent's!We'll talk about the weather until we get there. It's been such alovely day, " she grimaced. "If it rains much more we'll have to do asthey do in Spain. "

"What do they do in Spain?" Susan Atwell rose to the bait, despite awarning poke from Irma. 

"They let it rain, " grinned Jerry. "Aren't you an innocent child?"

Well pleased with her success in putting over this time-worn joke on onemore victim, Jerry continued with a lively stream of nonsense thatlasted during the brief walk to Sargent's. 

Once seated about a small round table at the back of the room, whichfrom long patronage they had come to look upon almost as their own, anexpectant murmur went the round of the little circle as Marjorie leanedforward a trifle and began in a low, earnest tone. "Girls, I am going toask you to do something for me that perhaps you won't wish to do. All ofyou know what happened last year to Connie and me. You know, too, thatif anyone has good reason to cut Mignon La Salle's acquaintance, wewould be justified in doing it. I was awfully surprised to see her comeinto the study hall this morning, and I said to myself that aside frombowing to her if I met her on the street, I would steer clear of her. But since then something has happened to make me change my mind. Marywishes Mignon for a friend, and so----"

"What a little goose!" interrupted Jerry disgustedly. "I beg yourpardon, Marjorie, but I can't help saying it. "

"This _is_ news!" exclaimed Muriel Harding. "Come to think of it, I_did_ see your friend Mary walking into geometry with Mignon, Marjorie. Why don't you enlighten her on the subject of Mignon and her doings?"

"That's just it. " Marjorie repeated briefly what she had said to theothers at noon. "I'm going to Gray Gables to see Constance before I gohome, " she continued, addressing the group. "You see, it's like this. Even if Connie says I may tell Mary everything, will it be quite fair toMignon? And now I'm coming to the reason I asked you to come here withme. Sometimes when a girl has done wrong and been hateful and no onelikes her, another girl comes along and begins to be friendly with her. That makes the girl who has done wrong feel ashamed of herself and thenperhaps she resolves to be more agreeable because of it. "

"Not Mignon, if you mean her, " muttered Jerry. 

"I do mean Mignon, " was Marjorie's grave response. "Every girl has abetter self, I'm sure, but if she doesn't know it she will never find itunless someone helps her. We've never even stopped to consider whetherMignon had any good qualities. We've judged her for the dishonorablethings she has done. I can't help saying that I don't like her verywell. You can't blame me, either. Still, if we are going to be sophomoresisters we must all stand together. " She glanced appealingly about hercircle, but on each young face she read plain disapproval. 

"You might as well try to carry water in a sieve as to reform Mignon, "shrugged Muriel Harding. 

"You can't tame a wildcat, " commented Susan Atwell. 

"Look here, Marjorie, " burst forth Jerry Macy. "We know that you are thedearest, nicest girl ever, but you are going to waste your time if youtry to go exploring for Mignon's better self. She never had one. If youtry to be nice to her she'll just take advantage of your goodness andmake fun of you behind your back. Let me tell you something. You knowMiss Elkins, who sews for people. Well, she's at our house to-day. Sheis making some silk blouses for me, and when I went upstairs to thesewing-room for a fitting to-day she asked me if Mignon was in school. Her sister is the housekeeper at the La Salle's and she told Miss Elkinsthat Mignon was expelled from boarding school because she wouldn't payattention to the rules. She was threatened with dismissal twice, and theother night she coaxed a lot of the girls to slip out of the dormitoryand go to the city to the theatre without a sign of a chaperon. One ofthe girls had a key to the front door and she lost it. They didn't gethome until after one o'clock, and then they couldn't get into thedormitory. The night watchman finally had to let them in and he reportedthem. She and two others were expelled because they planned the affair. I don't know what happened to the rest of them. Anyway, that's why ourdear Mignon is with us once more. I only wish that girl hadn't lost thekey. " Jerry's face registered her disgust. 

"I don't believe Mother would like to have me associate with Mignon. "This from gentle Irma Linton, who was usually the soul of toleration. 

"And you, too, Irma!" was Marjorie's reproachful cry. "Then there isn'tmuch use is asking you girls to help me. "

This was too much for the impulsive Jerry. 

"Don't look at us like that. As though you had lost your last friend. Just let me tell you, you haven't. I take it all back. I'll promise togo on a hunting expedition for Mignon's better self any old time yousay. "

"Sieves _have_ been known to hold water, " acknowledged Muriel, not to beoutdone by Jerry's burst of loyalty. 

"And wildcats have sometimes become household pets, " added Susan withher infectious giggle. 

"So have mothers been known to change their minds, " put in Irma. "I'mashamed of myself for being a quitter before I've even heard your plan. "

Marjorie's dark eyes shone with affection. "You are splendid, " shepraised with a little catch in her voice. "I can't help telling you now. After all, it isn't a very great plan, but it's the best I could thinkof just now, and this is it. Mother said I might give a party for Marywhen she first came to live with us, but I wished to wait until she gotacquainted with the girls in school. Then Connie gave her dance. So Ithought it would be nice to have mine in about two weeks, after we weresettled in our classes and didn't have so much to worry us. But now I'vechanged my mind. I'm going to give my party next week and I shall inviteMignon to it You girls can help me by being nice to her and making herhave a pleasant evening. If we are really determined to carry out ourplan we will have to invite her to our parties and luncheons, too, andask her to share our good times. The only way we can help her is to makeher one of us. If we draw away from her she will never be different. Shewill just become more disagreeable and some day we might be very sorrywe didn't do our best for her. "

The eloquence of Marjorie's plea had its effect on her listeners. 

"I guess you are on the right track, " conceded Jerry Macy warmly. "I amwilling to try to be a busy little helper. We might call ourselves theS. F. R. M. --Society For Reforming Mignon, you know. "

This proposal evoked a ripple of laughter. 

"Irma, do you suppose your mother wouldn't like you to--to--be friendlywith Mignon?" asked Marjorie anxiously. "We mustn't pledge ourselves toanything to which our mothers might say 'no. '"

"I think I can fix that part of it, " said Irma slowly. "If I explainthings to Mother, she'll understand. "

"Perhaps we all ought to talk it over with our mothers, " suggestedSusan. 

"I guess we'd better, " nodded Jerry. "But what about Connie? Suppose sheshouldn't be in favor of the S. F. R. M. ? You couldn't blame her much ifshe wasn't. "

"I'm going to see her to-night, after dinner. I intended to go to GrayGables after school, but you see me here instead, " returned Marjorie. "I am almost sure she'll say 'yes. '"

"How are we going to begin our reform movement?" asked Muriel Harding. 

"That's what I'd like to know. Who is willing to be the first martyr tothe cause? Let me tell you right now, I'd just as soon make friends witha snapping turtle. Only the snapper would probably be more polite. "

"You are a wicked Jerry, " reproved Marjorie smilingly, "and you know youdon't mean half you say. "

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. Anyhow, on in the cause of Mignon! Ifeel like one of the knights of old who buckled on his armor and wentforth to the fray with his lady's colors tied to his sleeve, or hislance, or some of his belongings. I've forgotten just what the stylewas. We are gallant knights, going forth to battle, wearing Marjorie'scolors, and Mignon will have to look out or she'll be reformed beforeshe has time to turn up her nose and shrug her shoulders. "

"Suppose we start by being as nice to her as we can in schoolto-morrow, " proposed Irma Linton thoughtfully. "If she meets us in thesame spirit, maybe something will happen that will show us what to donext. "

"That wouldn't be a bad idea, " declared Susan Atwell. "I sit near her, so I'll be the first one to hold out the olive branch. But if you hearsomething drop on the floor with a dull, sickening thud, you'll knowthat my particular variety of olive branch was rejected. "

"Somehow, I have an idea she won't be so very scornful, " said Marjoriehopefully. 

"Being expelled from boarding school may have a soothing effect on her, "agreed Jerry grimly. "I suppose it really isn't very knightly to saysnippy things about a person one intends to reform. "

"I think you are right, Jerry, " broke in Marjorie with sweetearnestness. "We must try to think and say only kind things of Mignon ifwe are to succeed. " Taking in the circle of girls with a quick, brightglance, she asked: "Then you are agreed to my plan? It is really acompact?"

Four emphatic nods answered her questions. 

"Hurrah for the S. F. R. M. !" exclaimed Jerry. "Long may it wave! Onlythere's one glorious truth that I feel it my duty to impress on yourminds. The way of the reformer is hard. "

CHAPTER XIII

IN DEFENCE OF MIGNON

"Here are two letters for you, Lieutenant, " called her mother, asMarjorie burst into the living-room, her cheeks pink from a brisk run upthe drive. After leaving her schoolmates Marjorie had set off for homeas fast as her light feet would carry her. She managed to keep to adecorous walk until she had swung the gate behind her, then she hadsped up the drive like a fawn. 

"Oh, lovely!" cried Marjorie. "Your permission, Captain. " She touchedher hand to her hat brim in a gay little salute. Her spirits had beenrising from the moment she had left the girls, carrying with her theprecious security that they were now banded together in a worthy cause. Surely the snarl would straighten itself in a short time. Mary wouldsoon see that she intended to keep her word about being friends withMignon. Then she would understand that she, Marjorie, was loyal in spiteof her unjust accusations. Then all would be as it had been before. Perhaps Mary wouldn't be quite her old, sunny self for a few days, butthe shadow would pass--it must. 

"Why, it's from Connie!" she cried out in surprise, as her eyes soughtthe writing on the upper-most envelope. It was in Constance's irregular, girlish hand. She hastily tore it open and read. 

 "DEAREST MARJORIE:

 "Last night at my dance I didn't know that father was to be concertmeister in the symphony orchestra. It is a great honor and we are all very happy over it. He kept it to himself until the last minute, because he knew that if he told me, I would insist on going back to New York with him for his opening concert. But I'm going with him just the same. I shall be away from Sanford for a week or so, for I want to be with him until he goes to Boston. I'll study hard and catch up in school when I come back. I wish you were going, too, but later in the season he will be in New York City again. Then Auntie says she will take you and Mary and me there to hear him play. Won't that be glorious? I'll write you again as soon as I reach New York and you must answer with a long letter, telling me about school and everything. I am so sorry I can't see you to say good-bye, but I won't have time. Don't forget to answer as soon as I write you. 

 "Lovingly, "CONSTANCE. "

Marjorie's cheerful face grew blank. Certainly she was glad that Conniewould experience the happiness of hearing her father play before a vastassemblage who would gather to do him honor. Nevertheless she was just atrifle cast down over the unexpected flight of her friend to New York. With a start of dismay she remembered that she had intended going to seeConstance with the object of clearing away the clouds ofmisunderstanding. Now she would have to wait until Connie returned. Andthen, there was Mignon. She felt that it would be hardly fair to beginher crusade without consulting the girl whom Mignon had wronged mostdeeply. She had perfect faith in the quality of her friend's charity. Constance was too generous of spirit to hold a grudge. Through sufferingshe had grown great of soul. Still, it was right that she should beasked to decide the question. If she refused outright to sanction theproposed campaign for reform, or even demurred at the proposal, Marjoriewas resolved not to carry it forward, even for Mary's or Mignon's sake. 

Suddenly she recollected her adjuration to the girls to gain theirmothers' consent before going on with their plan. Her brows drewtogether in a perplexed frown. Had not Mary threatened, in the heat ofher anger, that if Marjorie told her mother of their disagreement shewould never speak to her again? How could she inform Captain of thecompact she and her friends had made without involving Mary in it? Hermother would naturally inquire the reason for this rather remarkablemovement. She might be displeased, as well as surprised, over Mary'sstrange predilection for the French girl. Her Captain knew all that hadhappened during her freshman year. On that memorable day when she hadleaped into the river to rescue Marcia Arnold, and afterward come home, a curious little figure clad in Jerry Macy's ample garments, the recitalof those stormy days when she had doubted, yet clung to Constance, hadtaken place. She recalled that long, confidential talk at her mother'sknee, and the peace it had brought her. 

All at once her face cleared. She would tell her mother about thecompact, but she would leave out the disagreeable scenes that hadoccurred between herself and Mary. "I'll tell her now and have it overwith, " she decided. 

"What makes you look so solemn, dear?" Her mother had glanced up fromher embroidery, and was affectionately scanning her daughter's graveface. "Does your letter from Connie contain bad news? I hope nothingunpleasant has happened to the child. "

"Oh, no, Captain. Quite the contrary. It's something nice, " returnedMarjorie quickly. "Let me read you her letter. " She turned to the firstpage and read aloud rapidly Constance's little note. "I'm so glad forher sake, " she sighed, as she finished, "but I shall miss herdreadfully. "

"I suppose you will. Good fortune seems to have followed the Stevensfamily since the day when my lieutenant went out of her way to help alittle girl in distress. "

"Perhaps I'm a mascot, Captain. If I am, then you ought to take goodcare of me, feed me on a special diet of plum pudding and chocolatecake, keep me on your best embroidered cushion and cherish megenerally, " laughed Marjorie, with a view toward turning the subjectfrom her own generous acts, the mention of which invariably embarrassedher. 

"And give you indigestion and see you ossify for want of exercise undermy indulgent eye, " retorted her mother. 

"I guess you had better go on cherishing me in the good old way, "decided Marjorie. "But you won't mind my sitting on one of your everydaycushions, just as close to you as I can get, will you?" Reaching for oneof the fat green velvet cushions which stood up sturdily at each end ofthe davenport, Marjorie dropped it beside her mother's chair and curledup on it. 

"I've something to report, Captain, " she said, her bantering tonechanging to seriousness. "You remember last year--and Mignon La Salle?"

Mrs. Dean frowned slightly at the mention of the French girl's name. Mother-like, she had never quite forgiven Mignon for the needless sorrowshe had wrought in the lives of those she held so dear. 

Marjorie caught the significance of that frown. "I know how you feelabout things, dearest, " she nodded. "Perhaps you won't give your consentto the plan I--that is, we--have made. But I have to tell you, anyway, so here goes. Mignon La Salle went away to boarding school, butshe--well she was sent home, and now she's back in Sanford High again. This afternoon Jerry, Irma, Susan, Muriel Harding and I went together toSargent's for ice cream. While we were there we decided that we ought toforgive the past and try to help Mignon find her better self. The onlyway we can help her is to treat her well and invite her to our partiesand luncheons. If she finds we are ready to begin all over again withher, perhaps she'll be different. We made a solemn compact to do it, provided our mothers were willing we should. So to be very slangy, 'It'sup to you, Captain!'"

"But suppose this girl merely takes advantage of your kindness andinvolves you all in another tangle?" remarked Mrs. Dean quietly. "Itseems to me that she proved herself wholly untrustworthy last year. "

"I know it. " Marjorie sighed. She would have liked to say that Mignonhad already tied an ugly snarl in her affairs. But loyalty to Maryforbade the utterance. Then, brightening, she went on hopefully: "If wenever try to help her, we'll never know whether she really has a betterself. Sometimes it takes just a little thing to change a person'sheart. "

"You are a dear child, " Mrs. Dean bent to press a kiss on Marjorie'scurly head, "and your argument is too generous to be downed. I give myofficial consent to the proposed reform, and I hope, for all concerned, that it will turn out beautifully. "

"Oh, Captain, " Marjorie nestled closer, "you're too dear for words. There's another reason for my wishing to be friendly with Mignon. Maryhas met her and likes her. "

"Mary!" Mrs. Dean looked her astonishment. "By the way, Marjorie, whereis Mary? I had quite forgotten her for the time being. You didn'tmention her as being with you at Sargent's. "

"She wasn't there, " explained Marjorie. "She didn't wait for me afterschool. She must have gone on with--with someone and stopped to talk. I--I think she'll be here soon. " A hurt look, of which she was entirelyunconscious, had driven the brightness from the face Marjorie turned toher mother. 

Mrs. Dean was a wise woman. She discerned that there had been a hitch inthe programme of her daughter's daily affairs, but she asked noquestions. She never intruded upon Marjorie's little reserves. She knewnow that whatever her daughter had kept back had been done in accordancewith a code of living, the uprightness of which was seldom equalled ina girl of her years. She, therefore, respected the reservation and madeno attempt to discover its nature. 

"What are you going to do first in the way of reform, Lieutenant?" sheinquired brightly. 

"Well, I thought I would invite Mignon to my party, the one you said Icould give for Mary. I'd like to have it next Friday night. Friday's thebest time. We can all sleep a little later the next morning, you know. "

"Very well, you may, " assented Mrs. Dean. "Does Mary know of thecontemplated reform?"

"No. You see I hated to say much to her about Mignon, because itwouldn't be very nice to discredit someone you were trying to help. Don't you agree with me?"

"I suppose I must. But what of Constance?"

"That's the part that bothers me, " was Marjorie's troubled reply. "I'mgoing to write her all about it. I know she'll be with us. She's toosplendid to hold spite. I think it would be all right to invite Mignonto my party, at any rate. But there's just one thing about it, Captain, if Connie objects, then the reform will have to go on without me. Youunderstand the way I feel, don't you?"

"Yes. I believe you owe it to Constance to respect her wishes. She wasthe chief sufferer at Mignon's hands. "

The confidential talk came to a sudden end with the ringing of thedoorbell. 

"It's Mary. " Marjorie sprang to her feet. "I'll let her in. "

Hurrying to the door, Marjorie opened it to admit Mary Raymond. Sheentered with an air of sulkiness that brought dread to Marjorie's heart. 

"Oh, Mary, where were you?" she asked, trying to appear ignorant of herchum's forbidding aspect. 

"I was with Mignon La Salle, " returned Mary briefly. "Will you comeupstairs with me, please?"

"I'd love to, Lieutenant Raymond. Thank you for your kind invitation. "Marjorie assumed a gaiety she did not feel. 

Without further remark Mary stolidly mounted the stairs. Marjoriefollowed her in a distinctly worried state of mind. The quarrel wasgoing to begin over again. She was sure of that. 

Mary stalked past the half-open door of Marjorie's room and pausedbefore her own. "I'd rather talk to you in _my_ room, if you please, "she said distantly. 

"All right, " agreed Marjorie, with ready cheerfulness. She intended togo on ignoring her chum's hostile attitude until she was forced to dootherwise. 

Mary closed the door behind them and faced Marjorie with compressedlips. The latter met her offended gaze with steady eyes. 

"I heard you and your friends making fun of Miss La Salle thisafternoon, and I am going to say right here that I think you were allextremely unkind. She heard you, too. You ought to be ashamed ofyourself, Marjorie Dean!"

"Why, I don't remember making fun of Mignon!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Whatdo you mean?"

"Then your memory is very short, " sneered Mary. "But I might haveexpected you to deny it. "

It was Marjorie's turn to grow indignant. "How can you accuse me of nottelling the truth?" she flashed. "I did not----" She stopped, flushingdeeply. She recalled Jerry Macy's humorous remark about Mignon as theystood talking in front of her locker. "I beg your pardon, Mary, " sheapologized. "I _do_ remember now that Mignon's name was mentioned whilewe were standing there. But it was nothing very dreadful. We were sayingthat if Miss Merton heard us talking she would scold us, and Jerry onlysaid that if Mignon chose to sing a solo at the top of her voice, infront of _her_ locker, Miss Merton wouldn't mind in the least. Everyoneknows that Mignon has always been a favorite of Miss Merton. I am sorryif she overheard it, for truly we hadn't the least idea of making fun ofher. It was Jerry's funny way of saying it that made us laugh. I'llexplain that to her the first time I see her. "

Mary's tense features relaxed a trifle. She was not yet so firmly in thetoils of the French girl as to be entirely blind to Marjorie'ssincerity. Her good sense told her that she was making a mountain of amole hill. There was a ring of truth in Marjorie's voice that brought aflush of shame to her cheeks. Still she would not allow it to sway her. 

"It wasn't nice in you to laugh, " she muttered. "She was dreadfullyhurt. She feels very sensitive about being sent home from school. Ofcourse, she knows she deserved it. She said so. But----"

"Did she really say that?" interrupted Marjorie eagerly. 

"I am not in the habit of saying what isn't true, " retorted Mary coldly. 

"Listen, Mary. " Marjorie's face was aglow with honest purpose. "I saidto you, you know, that if you wished Mignon for a friend I would be niceto her, too. Captain has promised to let me give my party for you onnext Friday night. I am going to invite Mignon to it, and we are allgoing to try to make her feel friendly toward us. "

"She won't come, " predicted Mary contemptuously. "I wouldn't, either, ifI were in her place. I shall tell her not to come, too. "

"Then you will be proving yourself anything but a friend to her, " flungback Marjorie hotly, "because you will be advising her against doingsomething that is for her good. " With this clinching argument Marjoriewalked to the door and opened it. 

"Whether I say a word or not, she won't come, " called Mary after her. But Marjorie was halfway down the stairs, too greatly exasperated totrust herself to further speech. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE COMMON FATE OF REFORMERS

Nevertheless the session behind closed doors had one beneficial effect. It broke the ice that had lately formed over the long comradeship of thetwo girls, and, although nothing was as of old, they were both secretlyrelieved to still be on terms of conversation. Out of pure regard forMary, Marjorie treated her exactly as she had always done, and Marypretended to respond, simply because she had determined that Mr. AndMrs. Dean should not become aware of any difference in their relations. She affected an interest in planning for the party and kept up a prettyshow of concern which Marjorie alone knew to be false. Privately Mary'sdeceitful attitude was a sore trial to her. Honest to the core, she feltthat she would rather her chum had maintained open hostility than afarce of good will which was dropped the moment they chanced to bealone. Still she resolved to bear it and look forward to a happier daywhen Mary would relent. 

The invitations to the party had been mailed and duly accepted. Much toMary's secret surprise and chagrin, Mignon had not declined to shed thelight of her countenance upon the proposed festivity, but had written aformal note of acceptance which amused Marjorie considerably, inasmuchas the acceptances of the others had been verbal. Despite her hatredfor Marjorie Dean and her friends, Mignon had resolved to profit by thesudden show of friendliness which, true to their compact, the five girlshad lost no time in carrying out. Ignoble of soul, she did not value thefavor of these girls as a concession which she had been fortunate enoughto receive. She decided to use it only as a wedge to reinstate herselfin a certain leadership which her bad behavior of last year had losther. She had no idea of the real reason for their interest in her. Shepreferred to think that they had come to a realization of her vastimportance in the social life of Sanford. Was not her father the richestman in the town? She had an idea that perhaps Mary Raymond might beresponsible for her sudden accession to favor. She had taken care toimpress her own importance upon Mary's mind, together with certain vagueinsinuations as to her wrongs. After her first brief outburst againstMarjorie and Constance Stevens, she had decided that she would gaininfinitely more by playing the part of wronged innocence. When shereceived her invitation she had already heard that Constance was in NewYork and likely to remain there for a time. This influenced her toaccept Marjorie's hospitality. Her own consciousness of guilt would notpermit her to go to any place where she would meet the accusing scorn ofConstance's blue eyes. Then, too, she had still another motive inattending the party. She had always looked upon Lawrence Armitage witheyes of favor. He had never paid her a great deal of attention, but hehad shown her less since the advent of Constance Stevens in Sanford. She resolved to show him that she was far more clever and likable thanthe quiet girl who had taken such a strong hold on his boyish interest, and with that end in view Mignon planned to make her reinstatement asweeping success. 

Friday afternoon was a lost session, so far as study went, to theSanford girls who were to make up the feminine portion of Marjorie'sparty. 

"Good gracious, I thought half-past three would never come!" grumbledJerry Macy in Marjorie's ear as they filed decorously through thecorridor. "Let's make a quick dash for the locker-room. I've a pressingengagement with the hair-dresser and I'm dying to get through with itand sweep down to dinner in my new silver net party dress. It's a dreamand makes me look positively thin. You won't know me when you see me. "

"You're not the only one, " put in Muriel Harding. "You won't be one, two, three when I appear to-night in all my glory. "

"Listen to the conceited things, " laughed Irma Linton. "'I won't speakof myself, ' as H. C. Anderson beautifully puts it. "

"Who's he?" demanded Jerry. "I know every boy in Sanford High, but Inever heard of him. "

A shout of laughter greeted her earnest assertion. 

"Wake up, Jerry, " dimpled Susan Atwell. "H. C. Stands for HansChristian. Now does the light begin to break?"

"Oh, you make me tired, " retorted Jerry. "Irma did that on purpose. That's worse than my favorite trap about letting it rain in Spain. Howwas I to know what she meant?"

"That's all because you don't cultivate literary tastes, " teased Muriel. 

"I do cultivate them, " grinned Jerry. "I've read the dictionary throughtwice, without skipping a page!"

"It must have been a pocket edition, " murmured Marjorie. 

"Stop teasing me or I'll get cross and not come to your party, "threatened Jerry. 

"You mean nothing could keep you away, " laughed Irma. 

"You're right. Nothing could. I'll be there, clad in costly raiment, tospur the reform party on to deeds of might. "

"Do come early, all of you, " urged Marjorie as she paused at her cornerto say good-bye. 

"We'll be there, " chorused the quartette after her. 

"I hope everyone will have a nice time, " was Marjorie's ferventreflection as she hurried on her way. "I do wish Mary would walk homewith me once in a while, instead of always waiting for Mignon. Iwouldn't ask her to for worlds, though. "

To see Mary walk away with Mignon at the end of every session of schoolhad been a heavy cross for Marjorie to bear. Surrounded as she alwayswas with the four faithful members of her own little set, she was oftenlonely. If only Constance had been in school she could have better borneMary's disloyalty, although the latter could never quite fill the nichewhich years of companionship had carved in her heart for Mary. ButConnie was far away, so she must go on enduring this bitter sorrow andmake no outward sign. 

Usually ready to bubble over with exhilaration when on the eve ofparticipating in so delightful an occasion as a party, it was a veryquiet Marjorie who tripped into the living-room that afternoon. The big, cosy apartment had undergone a marked change. It was practically bare, save for the piano in one corner, which had been moved from thedrawing-room, and a phonograph which was to do occasional duty, so thatthe patient musicians might now and then rest from their labor. 

Mrs. Dean was giving a last direction to the men who had been hired tomove the furniture about as Marjorie entered. 

"Everything is ready, Lieutenant, " smiled her mother. "We have all donea strenuous day's work in a good cause. "

"Thank you over and over again, Captain. It's dear in you to take somuch trouble for me. I'm afraid you've worked too hard. " Her latelypensive mood vanishing as she viewed the newly waxed floor, Marjorieexecuted a gay little _pas-seul_ on its smooth surface and made arunning slide toward her mother, striking against her with considerableforce. 

"Steady, Lieutenant. " Her mother passed an arm about her and gave her aloving little squeeze. "Please have proper respect for the aged. "

"There are no such persons here, " retorted Marjorie, "I see a young andbeautiful lady, who----"

"Must go straight to the kitchen and see what Delia is doing in the wayof dinner, " finished Mrs. Dean. "Remember, we are to have it athalf-past five to-night, so don't wander away and be late. Your frock islaid out on your bed, dear. You had better run along and dress beforedinner. Then you will be ready. The time will fairly fly afterward. Where is Mary? Why doesn't she come home with you in the afternoon? Forthe past week she has come in long after school is out. "

"Oh, she stops to talk and walk with Mignon, " replied Marjorie, with anair of elaborate carelessness. "They are very good friends. "

Mrs. Dean seemed about to comment further on the subject when Deliaappeared in the doorway and distracted her attention to other matters. 

Marjorie breathed a sigh of relief as she went upstairs. She was glad toescape the further questions concerning Mary which her mother seemeddisposed to ask. Her gaiety had been evanescent and she now experienceda feeling of positive gloom as she entered her pretty room and preparedto bathe and dress for the evening. She could not resist a thrill ofpleasure at the sheer beauty of the white chiffon frock spread out onher bed. She wondered if Mary would wear her pale blue silk eveningfrock, or the white one with the lace over-frock. They were bothbeautiful. But she had always loved Mary in white. She wondered if shedared ask her to wear the white lace gown. 

While she was dressing, through her half-opened door she heard Mary'svoice in the hall in conversation with her mother. Hastily slippinginto her pretty frock, she went to the door hooking it as she walked. Mary was just appearing on the landing. 

"Oh, Mary, " she called genially, "do wear your white. You will look solovely in it. "

"I'm going to wear my blue gown, " returned Mary stolidly, and marched ondown the hall to her room, closing the door with a bang. "Just as thoughI'd let her dictate to me what to wear, " she muttered. 

The two young girls made a pretty picture as they took their places atthe dinner table. 

"I wish General were here to see you, " sighed Mrs. Dean. Mr. Dean hadbeen called away on a business trip east. 

"So do I, " echoed Marjorie. "Things won't be quite perfect without him. "

Neither girl ate much dinner. They were far too highly excited to dojustice to the meal. In spite of their estrangement they were bothlooking forward to the dance. 

At half-past seven o'clock Jerry and the rest of the reform partyarrived, buzzing like a hive of bees. 

"Is she here yet?" whispered Jerry Macy in Marjorie's ear, after payingher respects to Mrs. Dean and Mary, who, with Marjorie, received theirguests in the palm-decorated hall. 

"No, she hasn't come. I suppose she will arrive late. You know she lovesto make a sensation. " Marjorie could not resist this one little fling, despite her good resolutions. 

The guests continued to arrive in twos and threes and Marjorie was keptbusy greeting them. True to her prediction, it was after eight o'clockwhen Mignon appeared. She wore an imported gown of peachblow satin thatmust have been a considerable item of expense to her doting father. Herelfish face glowed with suppressed excitement and her black eyes rovedabout, with lightning glances, born of a curiosity to inspect everydetail of her unfamiliar surroundings. 

"I am glad you came, " greeted Marjorie graciously, and presented Mignonto her mother. 

The French girl acknowledged the introduction, then turning to Marybegan an eager, low-toned conversation, apparently forgetting herhostess. 

Mrs. Dean betrayed no sign of what went on in her mind, but her thoughtson the subject of Mignon were not flattering. Ill-bred, she mentallystyled her, and decided that she would look into the matter of hergrowing friendship with Mary. 

The dancing had already begun when, piloted by Mary, who had apparentlyforgotten that she was of the receiving party, the two girls strolledinto the impromptu ballroom. Mary was immediately claimed as a partnerby Lawrence Armitage, who tried to console himself with the thoughtthat, at least, she looked like Constance. Mignon's face darkened asthey danced off. Lawrie had merely bowed to her. But he had asked Maryto dance. That was because she resembled that odious Stevens girl. Herresentment against Constance blazed forth afresh. She hoped Constancewould never return to Sanford. 

Thanks to a long lecture which Jerry had read to her brother Hal, Mignonwas not neglected. Although none of the Weston High boys really likedher, she was asked to dance almost every number. Later in the eveningLawrence Armitage asked her for a one-step, and she vainly imaginedthat, after all, she had made an impression on him. Radiant with triumphover her social success, Mignon saw herself firmly entrenched in theleadership she dreamed would be hers. But her triumph was to beshort-lived. 

After supper, which was served at two long tables in the dining-room, the guests returned to their dancing with the tireless ardor of firstyouth. Chancing to be without a partner, Mignon slipped into apalm-screened nook under the stairs for a chat with Mary, who hadfollowed her about all evening, more with a view of hurting Marjoriethan from an excess of devotion. From their position they could see allthat went on about them, yet be quite hidden from the unobservant. Theunobservant happened to be Marjorie and Jerry Macy, who had come fromthe ballroom for a confidential talk and taken up their station directlyin front of the alcove. Save for the two girls behind the palms, thehall was deserted. 

"Well, I guess Mignon's having a good time, " declared Jerry Macy in herbrisk, loud tones. "She ought to. I nearly talked myself hoarse to Halbefore he'd promise to see that the boys asked her to dance. This reformbusiness is no joke. "

"Lower your voice, Jerry, " warned Marjorie. "Someone might hear you. "

Mary Raymond made a sudden movement to rise. Stubborn she might be, butshe was not so dishonorable as to listen to a conversation not intendedfor her ears. Mignon pulled her back with sudden savage strength. Shelaid her finger to her lips, her black eyes gleaming with anger. 

"Oh, there's no one around. Say, Marjorie, do you think it's reallyworth while to go out of our way to reform Mignon? Look at her to-night. You'd think she had conquered the universe. She was all smiles whenLaurie Armitage asked her to dance. He can't bear her, he told me solast Hallowe'en, after she made all that fuss about her old bracelet. Ifwe hadn't banded ourselves together to find that better self which youare so sure she's carrying around with her, I'd say call it off andforget it. None of us really likes her. You know that, even if you won'tsay so. She is----"

The waltz time ended in a soft chord and the dancers began troopingthrough the doorway to the big punch-bowl of lemonade in one corner ofthe hall. They were just in time to see a lithe figure in pink springout, catlike, from behind the palm-screened alcove and hear a furiousvoice cry out, "How dare you insult a guest by talking about her, themoment her back is turned?"

CHAPTER XV

AN IRATE GUEST

Jerry Macy and Marjorie Dean whirled about at the sound of that wrathfulvoice. Mignon La Salle confronted them, her eyes flashing, her fingersclosing and unclosing in nervous rage, looking for all the world like ayoung tigress. 

"Oh, for goodness' sake, some one lead her away!" muttered the Crane toIrma Linton. "I told Hal to-day that, with Mignon aboard the good oldparty ship, we'd be sure to have fireworks. Real dynamite, too, and nomistake. I wonder what's upset her sweet, retiring disposition?" Hisboyish face indicated his deep disgust. 

"I heard every word you said!" screamed Mignon. Rage had stripped her ofthe thin veneer of civilization. She was the same young savage who hadkicked and screamed her way to whatever she desired when years beforeshe had been the terror of the neighborhood. "So, that's the reason youinvited me to your old party! You got together and picked me to piecesand decided to reform me! Just let me tell you that you had better lookto yourselves. I don't need your kind offices. You are a crowd ofhateful, deceitful, mean, horrible girls! I despise you all! Everyone ofyou! Do you hear me? I despise you! And _you_, Jerry Macy, had better bea little careful as to what you gossip about me. I can tell you----"

There came a sudden interruption to the tirade. Through the amazedgroups of young people who could not resist lingering to find out whatit was all about, Mrs. Dean resolutely made her way. 

"That will do, Miss La Salle, " she commanded sternly. "I cannot allowyou to make such a disgraceful scene in my home, or insult my daughterand her guests. If you will come quietly upstairs with me and state yourgrievance, I shall do all in my power to rectify it. Marjorie, " sheturned to her daughter, who stood looking on in wide-eyed distress, "askthe musicians to start the music for the next dance. "

Marjorie obeyed and, somewhat ashamed of their curiosity, the dancersforgot their thirst for lemonade and flocked into the ballroom. OnlyJerry Macy and Mary Raymond remained. 

"It's all my fault, Mrs. Dean, " began Jerry contritely. "I didn't knowMignon was in the alcove. I can't help saying she had no business tolisten, but----"

"It _is_ my business, " began Mignon furiously. "I have a right----"

"Don't begin this quarrel all over again. " Mrs. Dean held up her handfor silence. "I repeat, " she continued, regarding Mignon with markeddispleasure, "if you will come upstairs with me----"

"Mrs. Dean, it's a shame the way Mignon has been treated to-night, "burst forth Mary Raymond, "and I for one don't intend to stand by andsee her insulted. Miss Macy said perfectly hateful things about her. Iheard them. Marjorie is just as much to blame. She listened to them andnever said a word to stop them. "

"Mary Raymond!" Mrs. Dean's voice held an ominous note that should havewarned Mary to hold her peace. Instead it angered her to open rebellion. 

"Don't 'Mary Raymond' me, " she mocked in angry sarcasm. "I meant what Isaid, every word of it. Mignon is my dear friend and I shall stand upfor her. "

"Oh, let me alone, all of you!" With an agile spring, Mignon gained thestairway and sped up the stairs on winged feet. Two minutes later, wrapped in her evening coat and scarf, she reappeared at the head andran down the steps two at a time. "Thank you so much for a delightfulevening, " she bowed ironically. "I'm so sorry I haven't time to stay andbe lectured. It's too bad, isn't it, Miss Mary, that the reform couldn'tgo on?" To Mary she held out her hand. "Come and spend the day with meto-morrow, Mary. You may like it so well, you'll decide to stay. If youdo, why just come along whenever you feel disposed. I can assure youthat our house is a pleasanter place to live in than the one you are innow. " With this pointed fling she bowed again in mock courtesy to thesilent woman who had offended her and flounced out the door and into thestarlit night to where her own electric runabout was standing. 

"Can you beat that?" was the tribute that fell from Jerry Macy's lips. 

Mrs. Dean looked from one to the other of the three girls. "Now, girls, I demand an explanation of all this. Who of you is at fault in thematter?"

"I told you it was I, " answered Jerry. "Marjorie and I were talkingabout Mignon and saying that she was having a good time. Then I had togo on and say some more things that I don't take back, but that weren'tintended for listeners. I didn't know Mignon and Mary were hidden inthat alcove. Do you suppose I'd have spoiled our reform, after all thetrouble we've had making it go, if I'd known they were there?"

Mrs. Dean could not repress a faint smile at Jerry's rueful admissions. She liked this stout, matter-of-fact girl in spite of her rough, brusqueways. 

"No, I don't suppose you would, but you were in the wrong, I am afraid. You must learn to curb that sharp tongue, Jerry. It is likely, some day, to involve you in serious trouble. "

"I know it. " Jerry hung her head. "But, you see, Marjorie understandsme. That's why I say to her whatever I think. "

"Mary, " Mrs. Dean gravely studied Mary's sulky face, "I am deeply hurtand surprised. Later I shall have something to say to you and Marjorie. Now go back to your friends, all of you, and try to make up to them forthis unpleasantness. "

Marjorie, who all this time had said nothing, now began timidly. She hadseldom seen her beloved Captain so stern. "Captain, we are----"

"Not another word. I said, 'later. '"

Jerry and Marjorie turned to the ballroom. Mary however, with a scornfulglance at Mrs. Dean, faced about and went upstairs. She had been imbuedwith a naughty resolve and she determined to proceed at once to carry itout. 

The dancing went on for a little, but the disagreeable happening haddampened the ardor of the guests and they began leaving for home soonafterward. 

It was midnight when the last sound of the footsteps of the departingyoungsters echoed down the walk. Side by side, Marjorie and her motherwatched them go, then the latter slipped her arm through that of herdaughter and said, "Now, Marjorie, we will get to the bottom of thisaffair. Come with me to Mary's room. "

They reached it to find the door closed. Mrs. Dean knocked upon one ofthe panels. 

"What do you want?" inquired an angry voice. 

"We wish to come in, Mary, " was Mrs. Dean's even response. 

There was a muttered exclamation, a hurry of light feet, then the doorwas flung open. 

"You can come in for all I care, " was Mary's rude greeting. "You mightas well know now that I'm not going to live here after to-night. I'mgoing to Mignon's house to live. " Piles of clothing scattered about anda significantly yawning trunk bore out the assertion. 

Mrs. Dean knew that the time for action had come. Walking over to thegirl, she placed deliberate hands on her shoulders. "Listen to me, MaryRaymond, " she said decisively. "You are _not_ going one step out of thishouse without my consent. Your father intrusted you to my care, and Ishall endeavor to carry out his wishes. You know as well as I that hewould be displeased and sorry over your behavior. I had intended to talkmatters over with you and Marjorie now, but you are in no mood forreason. Therefore we will allow this affair to rest until to-morrow. But, once and for all, unless your father sanctions your removal in aletter to me, you will stay here, under my roof. Come, Marjorie. "

With a sorrowful glance toward the tense, angry little figure, Marjoriefollowed her mother from the room. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE PENALTY

Marjorie awoke the next morning with a dull ache in her heart. It was asthough she had been the victim of a bad dream. She stared gloomily abouther, struggling to recollect the cause of her depression. Thenremembrance rushed over her like a wave. No, she had not dreamed. Lastnight had been only too real. If anyone had even intimated to herbeforehand that the party which had promised so much was fated to end sodisagreeably, she would have laughed the prediction to scorn. If onlyJerry had kept her unpleasantly candid remarks to herself! Yet, afterall, she could hardly blame her very much. What Jerry had said had beenintended for her ears alone. As hostess, however, she should not havepermitted Jerry to continue. Marjorie blamed herself heavily for this. To be sure, it had been hardly fair in Mary and Mignon to listen. Theyshould have made known their presence. She wondered what she would havedone under the same circumstances. Her sense of honor answered her. Sheknew she would have immediately come forward. She could not understandwhy Mary had not done so. Loyal to the core, Marjorie's faith in herchum refused to die. The Mary she had known for so many years had notbeen lacking in honor. What she had feared from the first had come topass. Mary had been swayed by Mignon's baleful personality. Themuch-talked-of reform had ended in a glaring fizzle. 

For some time Marjorie lay still, her thoughts busy with the disquietingevents of the previous night. She had longed to turn and comfort thetense little figure standing immovable in the middle of her room, buther Captain's word was law, and Marjorie could but sadly acknowledge toherself that her mother had acted for the best. So she could do nothingbut follow her from the room with a heavy heart. 

What was to be the outcome of the affair she dared not even imagine. Areconciliation with Mary was her earnest desire. This, however, couldhardly be brought about. Perhaps they would never again be friends. Arush of tears blinded her brown eyes. Burying her face in the pillow, Marjorie gave vent to the sorrow which overflowed her soul. 

The sound of light, tapping fingers on the door caused her to sit uphastily. "Come in, " she called, trying to steady her voice. 

The door opened to admit Mary Raymond. Her babyish face looked white andwan in the clear morning light. For hours after her door had closed uponMarjorie and her mother she had sat on the edge of her bed in her prettyblue party frock, brooding on her wrongs. When she had finally preparedfor sleep, it was only to toss and turn in her bed, wide-awake andresentful. At daylight she had risen listlessly, then fixing upon acertain plan of action, had bathed, put on a simple house gown andknocked at Marjorie's door. 

A single glance at Marjorie's face was sufficient for her to determinethat her chum had been crying. She decided that she was glad of it. Marjorie had made _her_ unhappy, now she deserved a similar fate. 

"Why, Mary!" Marjorie sprang from the bed and advanced to meet her. Involuntarily both arms were outstretched in tender appeal. 

Mary took no notice of the mutely pleading arms, save to step back witha cold gesture of avoidance. 

"I haven't come here to be friends, " she said with deliberate cruelty. "I've come to ask you what you intend to say to your mother. "

"What _can_ I say to her?" Marjorie's voice had a despairing note. 

"You can say nothing, " retorted Mary. "That is what _I_ intend to do. Your friend, Jerry Macy, said too much last night. I cannot see why ourschool affairs should be discussed in this house. I am sorry thatMignon made a--a--disturbance last night. I didn't intend to listen, but----" Her old-time frankness had almost overcome her newly hostilebearing. She was on the point of saying that she had been ready to stepforth from behind the palms at Jerry's first speech. Then loyalty toMignon prevailed and she paused. 

Marjorie caught at a straw. "I _knew_ you didn't intend to listen, Mary. " The assurance rang out earnestly. "I couldn't make myself believethat you would. I wanted to stay last night and tell you how sorry I wasfor--for everything, but I owed it to Captain to obey orders. Mary, dear, can't we start over again? I'm sure it's all been a stupidmistake. Let's be good soldiers and resolve to face that dreadful enemy, Misunderstanding, together. Let's go to Captain and tell her everysingle thing! Think how much better we'll both feel. It almost broke myheart, last night, when you said you were going to Mignon's to live. IfCaptain thinks it best, I'll break my promise to Connie and tellyou----"

At the mention of Constance Stevens' name Mary's face darkened. Touchedby Marjorie's impassioned appeal she had been tempted to break down thebarrier that rose between them and take the girl she still adored intoher stubborn heart again. But the mere name of Constance had acted as aspur to her rancor. 

"Don't trouble yourself about begging permission of Miss Stevens on _my_account, " she sneered. "I know a great deal too much of her already. What do you suppose the girls and boys of Franklin High, who gave youyour butterfly pin, would say if they knew that you let the girl whostole it from you wear it for months? If you had been honorable youwould have made her give it back and then dropped her forever. "

Marjorie's sorrow disappeared in wrath. "Mary Raymond, you don't knowwhat you are talking about, " she flamed. "I can guess who told you thatuntruth. It was Mignon La Salle. It was _not_ Constance who took mybutterfly pin. It was----"

Again she remembered her promise. 

"Well, " jeered Mary, "who was it, then?"

"I shall not say another word until I see Captain. " Marjorie's toneswere freighted with decision. 

"You mean that you can't deny that your friend Constance was guilty, "cut in Mary scornfully. "Never mind. I don't care to hear anything more. You needn't consult your mother, either. I'm never going to be friendswith you again, so it doesn't matter. But if you ever cared the leastbit for me you'll do as I ask and not tell tales to Captain--I mean Mrs. Dean, " she corrected haughtily. "If you do, then I repeat what I saidthe other day. I'll never speak to you again--no, not if I live hereforever. But I won't have to do that, for I shall write to Father andask him to let me go to Mignon's to live. So there!"

With this dire threat Mary flounced angrily from the room, well pleasedwith the stand she had taken. 

It was a most unsociable trio that gathered at the breakfast table thatSaturday morning. Mary carried herself with open belligerence. Marjorielooked as though she was on the point of bursting into tears, while Mrs. Dean was unusually grave. A delicate task lay before her and she waswondering as she poured the coffee how she had best begin. Still she haddetermined to thresh the matter out speedily, and as soon as Delia hadserved the breakfast and retired to the kitchen, she glanced from one tothe other of the two principals and said, "Now, girls, I am waiting tohear about last night. "

A blank silence fell. Marjorie fixed her eyes on Mary. To her belongedthe first word. 

The silence continued. 

"Well, Mary, " Mrs. Dean spoke at last, "what have you to say foryourself?"

"Nothing, " came the mutinous reply. 

"I am sorry that you won't meet me frankly, " commented Mrs. Dean. "I hadhoped to find you on duty. " Her searching gaze rested on Marjorie"Lieutenant, it is your turn, I think. "

Marjorie flushed with distress. She was between two fires. Obediencewon. She related what had transpired in the hall in a few brief words, shielding Mary as far as was possible. 

"But I know all this, " said Mrs. Dean, a trifle impatiently. "Jerry toldme last night. There is more to this affair than appears on the surface. What has happened to estrange you two, who have been chums for so manyyears? I have seen for some time that matters were not progressingsmoothly between you. Things cannot go on in this way. You must take meinto your confidence. It is evident that a reform is needed here athome. "

Mary stared fixedly at her plate. She was resolved not to be a party tothat reform. If Marjorie failed her, well--she knew the consequences. 

Marjorie saw the sullen, mutinous face through a mist of tears. Shetried to speak, but speech refused to come. 

"I am ashamed of my soldiers. " Mrs. Dean spoke sadly. "What wouldGeneral say, if he were here?"

The grave question rang like a clarion call in Marjorie's soul. A visionof her father's merry, quizzical eyes grown suddenly sober and hurt overthe stubborn resistance of his little army was too much for her. Onemournfully appealing glance at the unyielding Mary and she burst forthwith, "I can't stand it any longer. I must speak. Last year, when--when--Connie and I had so many unhappy days over my lost butterflypin I didn't write Mary about what was happening, because I feltterribly and wished her to know only the pleasant side of my schoollife. So she hadn't the least idea that Connie and I had become suchfriends. She thought Connie was just a poor girl whom I tried to helpbecause I was sorry for her. When I asked Connie to come with us to thestation to meet Mary I was so happy to think they were going to meetthat I am afraid I made Mary believe that Connie had taken her placewith me. You know, Captain, that it couldn't be so. Mary has been andalways will be my dearest friend. I never dreamed she would become----"Marjorie hesitated. She could not bring herself to say "jealous. "

A smile of contempt curved Mary's lips. "Why don't you say 'jealous'?That's what you mean, " she supplemented. 

"Very well, I will say it, " rejoined Marjorie quietly. "I never dreamedMary would become jealous of my friendship with Connie. Before long Inoticed she was not quite her own dear self. Then she said somethingthat made me see that I ought to tell her all about last year, but Ididn't feel that it would be right until I had asked Connie'spermission. I told Mary I would do that very thing, but at Connie'sdance before I ever had a chance _she_ asked me not to say anything. Shewas still so hurt over that affair of my pin that she was afraid Marymight not like her so much if she knew. I didn't know what to do, then. If I were to say that Mary had asked me to tell her, well--I thoughtConnie might think her curious. "

Mary made a half-stifled exclamation of anger. Then she shrugged hershoulders with inimitable contempt and fixed her gaze on the oppositewall, assuming an air of boredom she was far from feeling. 

"Go on, " commanded Mrs. Dean. Marjorie had hesitated at theinterruption. 

"There isn't much more to tell, " continued Marjorie bravely, "only thatMignon came back to school and met Mary and made mischief. You know therest, Captain. You remember what I said to you the other day----"

"Then you _had_ told your mother things about me, already!" burst forthMary furiously. "Very well. You know what I said this morning. Justremember it. "

Marjorie gazed piteously at the angry girl. She could not believe thatMary intended to carry out her threat of the morning. 

"What did you say to Marjorie this morning?" inquired Mrs. Dean in colddispleasure. She was endeavoring to be impartial, but her clear mentalvision pointed that it was not her daughter who was at fault. 

Mary's reply was flung defiantly forth. "I said I'd never speak to heragain, and I won't! I won't!"

If Mary had expected Mrs. Dean either to order her to reconsider herrash words or plead with her for reconciliation, she was doomed todisappointment. "We will take you at your word, Mary, " came the calmanswer. "Hereafter Marjorie must not speak to you unless you address herfirst. Of course, it will be unpleasant for all of us, but I can seenothing else to be done. You may write to your father if you choose. Hewill undoubtedly write me in return, and naturally I shall tell him theplain, unvarnished truth, together with several items of interestconcerning Mignon La Salle which cannot be withheld from him. I shallnot forbid you to continue your friendship with her. You are old enoughnow to know right from wrong. So long as she does nothing to break theconventions of society, I can condemn her only as a trouble-maker. Myadvice to you would be to drop her acquaintance. When Constance returnsit would be well for you and Marjorie to invite her here and clear upthis difficulty. However, that rests with you. So far as General and Iare concerned, nothing is changed. We shall continue to the utmost tofulfill your father's trust in us. Now, once and for all, we will dropthe subject. I must insist on no more bickering and quarreling in myhouse. That applies to both of you. "

"Please let me say just one thing more, Captain. " Marjorie turnedimploring eyes upon her mother. "If Mary will let me bring Connie here, when she comes back, I'm sure every cloud can be cleared away. Mary, "her vibrant tones throbbed with tender sympathy, "won't you take backwhat you've said and believe in me?"

For answer Mary Raymond rose from the table and left the room, obstinately trampling friendship and good will under her wayward feet. She had begun to keep her vow. 

CHAPTER XVII

A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION

The days following the final break in the friendship between the twosophomores were dark indeed for Marjorie. The tale of Mignon's stormyoutbreak at her party had been retailed far and wide. It furnishedmaterial for much speculative gossip among the students of Sanford HighSchool, and, as is always the case, grew out of proportion to truth witheach subsequent recital. Although the five girls who had bandedthemselves together in the reform that met with such signal failurerefused to commit themselves, nevertheless the purpose of their compact, revealed by Mignon's sarcastic tirade at the party, was no longer asecret. Regarding the conscientiousness of their motives, opinions weredivided. Certain girls who had a wholesome respect for wealth, personified in Mignon, murmured among themselves that it was a shame shehad been so badly treated, while under the Deans' roof. A few stillbolder spirits went so far as to criticize Mrs. Dean for interfering ina school-girl's quarrel. They asserted that Mary Raymond had behavedwisely in openly defending her. Marjorie Dean was a great baby to allowher mother to run her affairs. There was no one quite so tiresome as agoody-goody. 

On the other hand, Marjorie possessed many firm friends who defendedher, to the last word. For the time being discussion ran rife, for youthloves to take up arms in any cause that promises excitement, withoutstopping to consider dispassionately both sides of a story. 

After the party Mignon had lost no time in imparting to those who wouldlisten to her that the Deans had treated their guest with the utmostcruelty and it was for her invalid mother's sake alone that Mary hadresigned herself to remain under their roof and go on with her school. Her distortion of the truth grew with each recital and, as the autumndays came and went, she found she had succeeded in dividing thesophomore class far more effectually than she had divided it thepreceding year, when in its freshman infancy. 

At the Hallowe'en dance which the Weston boys always gave to their fairSanford schoolmates, dissension had reigned and broken forth in so manypetty jealousies that the boyish hosts had been filled with gloomydisgust "at the way some of those girls acted, " and vowed amongthemselves never to give another party. There were exceptions, ofcourse, they had moodily agreed. Marjorie Dean and _her_ crowd were "allright" girls and "nothing was too good for them. " As for some others, well--"they'd wait a long time before the fellows broke their necks toshow 'em another good time. "

After a three weeks' absence Constance Stevens had returned to Sanfordand school. To her Marjorie confided her sorrows. So distressed was thelatter at the part she had unwittingly played in the jangle that shewrote Mary Raymond an earnest little note, which was read andcontemptuously consigned to the waste-basket as unworthy of answer. Longwere the talks Constance and Marjorie had on the sore subject of Mary'sunreasonable stand, and many were the plans proposed by which they mightsoften her stony little heart, but none of them were carried out. Theywere voiced, only to be laid aside as futile. 

To Marjorie it was all a dreadful dream from which she forlornly hopedshe might at any moment awaken. Three times a day she endured thetorture of sitting opposite Mary at meals, of hearing her talk with hermother and father exactly as though she were not present. Mr. Dean hadreturned from his Western trip. His wife had immediately advised him ofthe painful situation, and, after due deliberation, he had decided thatthe only one who could alter it was Mary herself. "Let her alone, " hecounseled. "She has her father's disposition. You cannot drive her. Youwere right in leaving her to work out her own salvation. It is hard onMarjorie, poor child, but sooner or later Mary will wake up. When shedoes she will be a very humble young woman. I wouldn't have her fatherand mother know this for a good deal, and neither would she. You canrest assured of that. Still you had better keep an eye on her. I don'tlike her friendship with this La Salle girl. Mark me, some day she willturn on Mary, and then see what happens! I'll have a talk with mysore-hearted little Lieutenant and cheer her up, if I can. "

Mr. Dean kept his word, privately inviting his sober-eyed daughter tomeet him at his office after school and go for a long ride with him inthe crisp autumn air. Once they had left Sanford behind them, Marjorie, who understood the purpose of the little expedition, opened hersorrowing heart to her General. Sure of his sympathy, she spoke herinmost thoughts, while he listened, commented, asked questions andcomforted, then repeated his prediction of a happy ending with apositiveness that aroused in her new hope of better days yet to come. 

Marjorie never forgot that ride. They tarried for dinner at a waysideinn, justly famous for its cheer, and drove home happily under theNovember stars. As she studied her lessons that night she experienced arush of buoyant good fellowship toward the world in general which formany days had not been hers. Yes, she was certain now that the shadowwould be lifted. Sooner or later she and Mary would step, hand-in-hand, into the clear sunlight of perfect understanding. She prayed that itmight dawn for her soon. As is usually the case with persons innocent ofblame, she took herself sharply to task for whatever part of the snarlshe had helped to make. She did not know that the stubborn soul of herfriend could be lifted to nobler things only by suffering; that Mary'smoment of awakening was still far distant. 

But while Marjorie prayed wistfully for reconciliation, Mary Raymond satin the next room, her straight brows puckered in a frown over a sheet ofpaper she held in her hand. On it was written:

 "DEAR MARY:

 "Be sure to come to the practice game to-morrow. I think you will find it interesting. If it is anything like the last one, several persons are going to be surprised when it is over. I won't see you after school to-day, as I am not coming back to the afternoon session. 

 "MIGNON. "

Mary stared at the paper with slightly troubled eyes. Estranged fromMarjorie, she and Mignon had become boon companions. Since that eventfulmorning when she had chosen her own course, she had discovered a numberof things about the French girl not wholly to her liking. First of allshe had expected that her latest sturdy defiance of the Deans wouldelicit the highest approbation on the part of Mignon. Greatly to herdisappointment, her new friend, in whose behalf she had renounced somuch, had received her bold announcement, "I'm done with Marjorie Deanforever, " quite as a matter of course. She had merely shrugged herexpressive shoulders and remarked, "I am glad you've come to yoursenses, " without even inquiring into the details. Ignoring Mary'swrongs, which had now become an old story to her and therefore devoid ofinterest, she had launched forth into a lengthy discussion of her ownplans, a subject of which she was never tired of talking. After that itdid not take long for the foolish little lieutenant, who had sounfeelingly deserted her regiment, to see that Mignon was entirelyself-centered. Other revelations soon followed. Mignon was agreeable aslong as she could have her own way. She would not brook contradiction, and she snapped her fingers at advice. She was a law unto herself, andto be her chum meant to follow blindly and unquestioningly wherever shechose to lead. Mary tried to bring herself to believe that she had madea wise choice. It was an honor to be best friends with the richest girlin Sanford High School. She owned an electric runabout and woreexpensive clothes. At home she was the moving power about which thehouseful of servants meekly revolved. All this was very gratifying, tobe sure, but deep in her heart Mary knew that she would rather spend oneblessed hour of the old, carefree companionship with Marjorie than ayear with this strange, elfish girl with whom she had cast her lot. Butit was too late to retreat. She had burned her bridges behind her. Shemust abide by that which she had chosen. 

To give her due credit, she still believed that Mignon had beenmisjudged. She invested the French girl with a sense of honor which shehad never possessed, and to this Mary pinned her faith. Perhaps if shehad not been still sullenly incensed against Constance Stevens, thescales might have fallen from her eyes. But her resentment against thelatter was exceeded only by Mignon's dislike for the gentle girl. Thusthe common bond of hatred held them together. She had only to mentionConstance's name and Mignon would rise to the bait with torrentialanger. This in itself was an unfailing solace to Mary. 

To-night, however, her conscience troubled her. For the past three weeksbasket ball had been the all-important topic of the hour with thestudents of Sanford High School. It was the usual custom for theinstructor in gymnastics to hold basket ball try-outs among the aspiringplayers of the various classes. Assisted by several seniors, she culledthe most skilful players to make the respective teams. But this year anew departure had been declared. Miss Randall was no longer instructor. She had resigned her position the previous June and passed on to otherfields. Her successor, Miss Davis, had ideas of her own on the subjectof basket ball and no sooner had she set foot in the gymnasium than sheproceeded to put them into effect. Instead of picking one team from thefreshman and sophomore classes, she selected two from each class. Thenshe organized a series of practice games to determine which of the twoteams should represent their respective classes in the field of glory. 

Marjorie, Susan Atwell, Muriel Harding, a tall girl named Esther Lind, and Harriet Delaney made one of the two teams. Mignon La Salle, Elizabeth Meredith, Daisy Griggs, Louise Selden and Anne Easton, thelatter four devoted supporters of Mignon La Salle, composed the other. There had been some little murmuring on the part of Marjorie's coterieof followers over the choice. Miss Davis was a close friend of MissMerton and it was whispered that she had been posted beforehand inchoosing the second team. Otherwise, how had it happened to be made upof Mignon's admiring satellites?

Miss Davis had decreed that three practice games between the twosophomore teams should be played to decide their prowess. The winnersshould then be allowed to challenge the freshmen, who were being putthrough a similar contest, to play a great deciding game for athletichonors on the Saturday afternoon following Thanksgiving. She alsoundertook to make basket ball plans for the juniors and seniors, butthese august persons declined to become enthusiastic over the movementand balked so vigorously at the first intimation of interference withtheir affairs that Miss Davis retired gracefully from their horizon anddevoted her energy to the younger and more pliable pupils of the school. 

Not yet arrived at the dignity of the two upper classes, the sophomoresand freshmen were still too devoted to the game itself to resent beingmanaged. To find in Miss Davis an ardent devotee of basket ball was adistinct gain. Miss Archer, although she attended the games playedbetween the various teams, was not, and had not been, wholly in favor ofthe sport since that memorable afternoon of the year before when Mignonhad accused Ellen Seymour, now a junior, of purposely tripping herduring a wild rush for the ball. Privately, Miss Archer consideredbasket ball rather a rough sport for girls and they knew that arepetition of last year's disturbance meant death to basket ball inSanford High School. 

Two of the three practice games had been played by the sophomore teams. The squad of which Marjorie was captain had easily won the first. Thishad greatly incensed Captain Mignon and her players. A series of lockerand corner confabs had followed. Mary, who did not aspire to basket ballhonors, had been present at these talks. In the beginning thediscussions had merely been devoted to the devising of signals and thevarious methods of scoring against their opponents. But gradually a newand sinister note had crept in. Mignon did not actually counsel her teamto take unfair advantages, but she made many artful suggestions, backedup by a play of her speaking shoulders that conveyed volumes to herfollowers. It began to dawn upon Mary that these "clever tricks, " asMignon was wont to designate them, were not only flagrant dishonestiesbut dangerous means to the end, quite likely to result in physical harm. Her sense of honor was by no means dead, although companionship withMignon had served to blunt it. She had remonstrated rather weakly withthe latter on one occasion, as they walked toward home together afterleaving the other girls, and had been ridiculed for her pains. 

She now stared at Mignon's irregular, disjointed writing, which in somecurious way suggested the girl's elfish personality, with unhappy eyes. Just what did Mignon mean by intimating that several persons were "goingto be surprised" when to-morrow's practice game was over? It soundedlike a threat. No doubt it was. Suppose--some one were to be hurtthrough this tricky playing of Mignon's team! Suppose that some one wereto be Marjorie! Mary shuddered. She remembered once reading in anewspaper an account of a basket-ball game in which a girl had beentripped by an opponent and had fallen. That girl had hurt her spine andthe physicians had decreed that she would never walk again. Mary put herhands before her eyes as though to shut out the mental vision ofMarjorie, lying white and moaning on the gymnasium floor, the victim ofan unscrupulous adversary. What could she do? She could not warnMarjorie to be on her guard. She had now passed out of her formerchum's friendship of her own free will. She could not go privately toMuriel or Susan or the other members of the team. No, indeed! Yet, somehow, she must convey a message of warning. 

Seized with a sudden impulse to carry out her resolve, she picked up apencil and began to scrawl on a bit of paper in a curious, back-handedfashion, quite different from her neat Spencerian hand. Over and overshe practiced this hand on a loosened sheet from her note-book. Atlength she rose and, going to her chiffonier, took from the top drawer aleather writing case. Tumbling its contents hastily over, she selected asheet of pale gray paper. There was a single envelope to match. Long ithad lain among her stationery, the last of a kind she had formerly used. She was sure Marjorie had never seen it, so if it fell into her handsshe could not trace it to her. Once more she practiced the back-handedscrawl. Then, with an energy born of the remorse which was to serve as acontinual penance for her folly, she wrote:

 "TO THE SOPHOMORE TEAM:

 "Be on your guard when you play to-morrow. If you are not very careful you may be sorry. Beware of 'tricks. '

 "ONE WHO KNOWS. "

Folding the warning, Mary slipped it into its envelope. But now thequestion again confronted her, "To whom shall I send it?" After amoment's frowning thought she decided upon Harriet Delaney as therecipient. But dared she trust it to the mail service? Suppose it werenot delivered until afternoon? Then it would be too late. The Delaneyslived only two blocks further up the street. It was not yet ten o'clock. Mrs. Dean had gone to a lecture. Marjorie was in her room. If she metGeneral she would merely state that she was going to post a letter. Thatwould be entirely true. She would run all the way there and back. Onceshe had reached Harriet's house she must take her chance of beingdiscovered. 

Drawing on her long blue coat, Mary crept noiselessly down the stairs. General was not in sight. The living room was in darkness. Only the halllights burned. It took but an instant to softly open the door. Mary speddown the walk and on her errand of honor like a frightened fawn. Fortunefavored her. No eye marked her cautious ascent of the Delaney's steps. She breathed a faint sigh of relief as she slipped the envelope into theletter slot in the middle of the front door. Then she turned and dashedfor home like a pursued criminal. 

She had hardly gained the shelter of her room when she heard the frontdoor open to the accompaniment of cheerful voices. Mr. Dean hadevidently gone forth to bring his wife home from the lecture. Mary threwherself on the bed, her heart pounding with excitement and the energy ofher brisk run. And though she was conscious only of having done a gooddeed for honor's sake, nevertheless she had faced about and taken a longstep in the right direction. 

CHAPTER XVIII

A MYSTERIOUS WARNING

"Good-morning, Mrs. Dean. Is Marjorie here?" There was a hint ofsuppressed excitement in the clear voice that asked the question. 

"Good morning, Harriet. Come in. " Mrs. Dean smiled pleasantly upon hercaller, as she ushered her into the hall. "You are out early thismorning. Yes, Marjorie is here. She hasn't come downstairs yet. She is alittle inclined to linger in bed on Saturday morning. "

"I can't blame her, " laughed Harriet. "I am fond of doing the same. ButI've a special reason for being out early this morning. It's aboutbasket ball. You may be sure of that. "

"Basket-ball is enjoying its usual popularity. I hear a great deal aboutit of late, " returned Mrs. Dean. "Pardon me. " Raising her voice, shecalled up the stairway, "Mar-jorie!"

"Coming down on the jump, Captain!" answered Marjorie's voice. Verifyingher words, she bounded lightly down the stairs, still in her dressinggown, her hair falling in long loose curls about her lovely face. "Iknew who was here. I heard Harriet's voice. "

"Oh, Marjorie, " burst forth Harriet, taking a quick step forward. "I--something awfully queer has happened!" She glanced nervously abouther, but Mrs. Dean had already vanished through the doorway, leadinginto the dining room. She rarely intruded upon Marjorie's callers longerthan to welcome them. 

"What is it, Harriet?" fell wonderingly from Marjorie's lips. Herfriend's early call, coupled with her agitated manner, betokenedsomething unusual. 

"Read this!" Harriet thrust a sheet of pale gray note paper intoMarjorie's hand. "It's the strangest thing I ever heard of!"

Marjorie swept the few scrawling lines of which the paper boasted with akeen, comprehensive glance. As its import dawned upon her, her browneyes grew round with amazement. She re-read it twice. "Where did youreceive it?" came her sharp question, as she continued to hold it in herhand. 

"I don't know when it came. Mother found it on the floor in thevestibule this morning. I was still in bed. She sent Nora, our maid, upstairs with it. You can imagine I didn't stop to finish my nap. Ihurried and dressed, ate about three bites of breakfast and started foryour house as fast as I could travel. I thought you ought to see itfirst. What do you make of it?"

"I hardly know what to think. " Marjorie's glance strayed from Harriet'sperturbed face to the mysterious letter of warning. "Somehow, I don'tbelieve it was written for a joke. Do you?"

"No, I don't. " Harriet shook her head positively. "I think it wasintended for just what it is, a warning to be on our guard to-day. I'lltell you something, Marjorie. I never mentioned it beforebecause--well--you know I've never liked Mignon La Salle since shenearly broke up basket ball at Sanford High last year, and I was afraidit might sound hateful on my part, but the girls of Mignon's squad areas tricky as can be. Twice, in the first practice game we played, I hadmy own troubles with them. Once Daisy Griggs nearly knocked me over. Shepretended it was an accident, but it wasn't. Then, in the second half, Mignon poked me in the side with her elbow. We were bunched so closethat not even the referee saw her. I almost had the ball, but my sidehurt me so that I missed it entirely. Susan Atwell was awfully crossabout something that day, too. I asked her what had happened, but sheonly muttered that she hoped she'd get through the game without beingmurdered. She wouldn't say another word, but you can guess from whatI've told you that she must have had good reason for getting mad. Didshe say anything to you?"

"No; I wish she had. " A flash of anger darkened Marjorie's delicatefeatures. "The girls of Mignon's team have played fairly enough with me. They are rough, I'll say that, but, so far they've not overstepped therules. "

"They know better than to try their tricks on _you_!" exclaimed Harriethotly, "or on Muriel, either. Mignon's afraid of you because you areeverything that's good and noble!"

"Nonsense, " Marjorie grew red at this flattering assertion. 

"It's true, just the same. She's afraid of Muriel, too, because sheknows that Muriel would report her to Miss Archer in a minute. Shethinks she can harass Esther and Susan and me and that we won't dare sayanything for fear Miss Archer will make a fuss. She knows how crazy weare to play and that we'd stand a good deal of knocking about ratherthan spoil everything. It's different with Muriel. If _she_ got mad, shewould walk off the floor and straight to Miss Archer's office, and thosegirls know it. "

Marjorie was silent. What Harriet said in regard to Muriel wasundoubtedly true. Since the latter had turned from Mignon La Salle toher, she had been the soul of devotion. She had never forgiven Mignonfor her cowardly conduct on the day of the class picnic. Murielreverenced the heroic, and Mignon had disgraced herself forever in theeyes of this impulsive, hero-worshipping girl. 

"We had better show this letter to the other girls, " Marjorie said withsudden decision. "Come upstairs to my house. I'll hurry and dress. Suppose you have a few more bites of breakfast with me. Your earlymorning rush must have made you hungry, and you ought to be well fed, ifyou expect to do valiant work on the field of battle this afternoon. "

"I _am_ hungry, " conceded Harriet, "and I won't wait to be urged. I'dlove to take breakfast with you. " Then, lowering her voice, she asked:"Is Mary going to the game?"

A faint wistfulness tinged Marjorie's voice as she said slowly. "I don'tknow. I haven't asked her. I suppose she is, though. "

Although it was whispered among Marjorie's close friends that theunpleasant scene at her party had left a yawning gap between the twofriends, never, by so much as a word, had Marjorie intimated the truestate of affairs to any one except Constance and Jerry Macy. Not evenSusan Atwell and Muriel Harding knew just how matters stood. Harrietremembered this in the same moment of her question, and, flushing at herown inquisitiveness, remarked hurriedly, "Everyone in school is comingto see us play. "

"I'm glad of that. " Marjorie had recovered again her usual cheerfulness, and answered heartily. She kept up a lively stream of talk as shecompleted her dressing. Tucking the letter inside her white silk blouseshe led the way downstairs to the dining room. She was slightly relievedto see Mary's place at the table vacant. She guessed that the latter hadheard Harriet's voice and had purposely remained in her room. She hadnot gone astray in this supposition. Mary _had_ heard Harriet speak andknew only too well what had brought her to the Deans' house so earlythat morning. 

It was nine o'clock when Marjorie and Harriet left the house to call onSusan Atwell, who lived nearest. Susan read the mysterious warning andwas duly impressed with its significance. She was equally at sea as tothe writer. It soon developed, however, that Harriet had been correct inassuming that Susan's wrath at the first game played against Mignon'steam had been occasioned by their unfair tactics. She had been slylytripped by Louise Selden, she asserted, and had fallen heavily. 

"All this is news to me, " declared Marjorie, frowning her disapproval. "It must be stopped. "

"How?" inquired Susan almost sulkily. 

"If necessary, we must have an understanding with our opponents, " wasthe quiet response. 

"That is easy enough to say, " retorted Susan, "but if we were to accusethose girls of playing unfairly, they would simply laugh at us and callus babies. "

"I'd rather be laughed at and called a baby than allow such unfairnessto go on. " There was a ring of determination in Marjorie's reply. 

"Let us hurry on to Muriel and hear her views, " suggested Harriet. "Shelives next door to Esther Lind, so we can call them together and showthem the letter. "

Once the team were together they spent an anxious session over theletter left by an unseen hand. Discussion ran rife. With her usualimpetuosity Muriel announced her intention of taking Mignon to taskbefore the game. "I'm not afraid of her, " she boasted. "I'd rather notplay than to feel that at any minute I might be laid up for repairs. I'mmuch obliged to the one who wrote this. He or she must have had atroubled conscience. "

Marjorie cast a startled glance at Muriel. Could it be possible thatMary had written the note? And yet something about the gray stationeryhad seemed familiar. She was not sure, but she thought she had at sometime or other received a letter from her chum written on gray notepaper. She resolved to look through Mary's letters to her as soon as shereached home. If Mary had, indeed, sent the warning, it was because shefelt constrained to do the only honorable thing in her power. Association with Mignon had not entirely deadened her sense of right andwrong. A wave of love and longing brought the tears to Marjorie's eyes. She winked them back. She must not betray herself to her schoolmates. 

"Listen to me, girls, " she began earnestly. "We mustn't say a word toour opponents before the game. I know I just said that we ought to havean understanding, and I meant it. But we had better wait until the endof the first half. If everything is all right, then so much the better. If it isn't--well--we shall at least have given them their chance. "

The players lingered in the Hardings' living room to discuss the comingcontest, go over their signals and prepare themselves as effectually aspossible for the fray. It was almost noon when Marjorie sped up thestairs to her room, there to put into execution the search she haddecided to make. Mary's letters to her, tied with a bit of blue ribbon, reposed in a pretty lacquered box designed especially to hold them. Marjorie untied the ribbon and fingered them with a sigh of regret forthe happy past. Most of them were written on white paper, a few were onpale blue, Mary's color. Almost at the bottom of the box was one grayenvelope. The searcher drew a quick breath as she separated it from itsfellows. Drawing the envelope from her blouse, she compared the two. They were identical. The mysterious warning was no longer a mysteryto her. 

CHAPTER XIX

A BOLD STAND FOR HONOR

Thrilled with the discovery she had just made, Marjorie's first impulsewas to seek admittance to the room so long denied her and confront Marywith the knowledge of her good deed. Remembering her General'sinjunction, "Let her alone, " she refrained from yielding to thatimpulse. Her pride, too, asserted itself. It was not her place to makeadvances, all too likely to be rebuffed. No, she must keep her secretuntil time had done its perfect work. Reconciliation lay in Mary'shands, not hers. She decided, however, that the girls must never knowwho had been the author of the warning. So far as she was concerned, itmust remain a mystery to them. 

"Where is Mary?" she inquired of her mother, as they sat down toluncheon a little later. Mary's place at the table was vacant. 

"Oh, she was invited to luncheon at her friend Mignon's home, " returnedMrs. Dean, frowning slightly. "I suppose she is hoping that Mignon'steam will win the game this afternoon. "

"I suppose so, " returned Marjorie absently. Her mind was still on herdiscovery. Should she tell Captain about it? Perhaps it would be best. Briefly she acquainted her mother with what she had so recently foundout. 

"I am not greatly surprised, " was her mother's quiet comment. "Mary istoo good a girl at heart to persist for long in this ridiculous standshe has taken. I am glad you said nothing of it to her. She must clearher own path of the briars she has sown. When she does, she will havelearned a much-needed lesson. "

"But, Captain, it's dreadful to think of Christmas coming and Maryand--I--not--friends, " faltered Marjorie. "I can't give her a present, and I'd love to. I suppose she doesn't care to give me one. We've alwaysexchanged gifts ever since we were little tots. "

"Perhaps everything will be all right by that time. If it isn't--well, Ihave a plan--but I'm not going to say a word about it yet. Wait untilnearer Christmas. Then we shall see. "

"Oh, Mother, if only you could think of something that would make usfriends again, just for a day, I'd be so happy!" Marjorie clasped herhands in fervent appeal. 

"Wait and see, " smiled Mrs. Dean enigmatically. 

As Marjorie set out for the high school that afternoon she hummed ajubilant snatch of song, due to the bright ray of sunlight that hadpierced the gloom. She could afford to wait, if waiting would bringabout the miracle that her mother had hinted might be wrought. She quiteforgot basket ball until she reached the steps of the high school. There her mind reverted to the coming contest and she set her lips insilent determination. Her team must win to-day. She could not endure thethought that Mignon's team should be the one to play against thefreshmen for sophomore honors. 

It was half past one o'clock when she entered the building and hurriedto the dressing room at one side of the gymnasium, which was reservedfor her squad. The first to arrive, she hastily prepared for the game. Meanwhile, she kept up an earnest thinking as to the course she had bestpursue if Mignon and her supporters overstepped the bounds of fair play. But she could make up her mind to nothing. Mere contemplation of thesubject was so disagreeable she hated to face it. 

While she pondered, Susan Atwell bustled in with Muriel Harding. The tworemaining members of the team appeared soon after and a lively dressingand talking bee ensued. The sophomore team, which Marjorie captained, had chosen to wear their black basket ball regalia of the year before, but instead of the violet "F" that had ornamented their blouses, ascarlet "S" now replaced it. Black and scarlet were the sophomorecolors. Should their team win, they could wear the same suits in themore important game to come. It was reported, however, that Mignon'steam would shine resplendently in new suits of gray, ornamented with arose-colored "S, " which Mignon had provided at her own expense. If theywon, she had promised her adherents the prettiest black and scarletsuits that could be obtained for the Thanksgiving Day contest. It isneedless to say that they had also set their minds on carrying off thevictor's palm. 

The game had been set for half past two o'clock, but long before thathour the gallery audience of Sanford School girls, with a fairsprinkling of boys from Weston High, had begun to arrive. Opinion wasdivided as to the prospective winners. Marjorie's team boasted ofseasoned players, whose work on the field was well known. Mignon had notbeen so fortunate. Neither Daisy Griggs nor Anne Easton had playedbasket ball, previous to the opening of the season. But Mignon herselfwas counted a powerful adversary. The sympathy of the boys lay for themost part with Marjorie's squad. The Weston High lads were decidedlypartial to the pretty, brown-eyed girl, whose modest, gracious ways hadsoon won their boyish approbation. Among the girls, however, Mignoncould count on fairly strong support. 

As it was a practice game no special preparations in the way of songs orthe wearing of contestants' colors had been observed. That would comelater, on Thanksgiving Day. But excitement ran higher than usual in theaudience, for it had been whispered about that it was to be "some game. "

"It's twenty-five after, children, " informed Jerry Macy, who, with IrmaLinton and Constance Stevens, had been accorded the privilege ofinvading the dressing room of Marjorie's team. Jerry had elected tobecome a safety deposit vault for a miscellaneous collection of pins, rings, neck chains and other simple jewelry dear to the heart of theschool girl. Marjorie's bracelet watch adorned one plump wrist, whileher own ornamented the other. 

"Look out, Jerry, or you'll make yourself cross-eyed trying to tell timeby both those watches at once, " giggled Susan Atwell. 

"Don't you believe it, " was Jerry's good-humored retort. "They're bothright to the minute. "

"Remember, girls, that we've just _got_ to win, " counseled Marjoriefervently. "Keep your heads, and don't let a single thing get by you. We've practiced our signals until I'm sure you all know them perfectly. "

"We'll win fast enough, if certain persons play fairly, " nodded MurielHarding, "but look out for Mignon. "

A shrill blast from the referee's whistle followed Muriel's warning. Itcalled them to action. 

The next instant five black and scarlet figures flashed forth onto thegymnasium floor to meet the gray-clad quintette that advanced from theopposite side of the room. 

United cheering from the gallery constituents of both teams rent theair. The contestants acknowledged the applause and ran to theirstations. A significant silence fell as the referee poised the ball forthe opening toss. Mignon La Salle's black eyes were fastened upon itwith almost savage intensity. She leaped like a cat for it as it leftthe referee's hands. Again the screech of the whistle sounded. The gamehad begun. 

It was Marjorie who won the toss-up, however. She had been just a shadequicker than Mignon. Now she sent the ball flying toward Susan Atwellwith a sure aim that made the onlookers gasp with admiration. Before thegray-clad girls could comprehend just how it had all happened, theiropponents had scored. But this was only the beginning of things. Buoyantover their initial gain, the black and scarlet girls played as thoughinspired and soon the score stood 8 to 0 in their favor. 

Mignon La Salle was furious at the unexpected turn matters had taken. Her players, of whom she had expected wonders, were behaving likedummies. They had evidently forgotten her fierce exhortations to fighttheir way to victory regardless of expense. Well, she would soon showthem their work. It did not take her long to put her resolve intoexecution. Joining a wild rush for the ball, which Harriet Delaney wasvaliantly trying to throw to basket, Mignon made good her word. Justwhat happened to her Harriet could not say. She knew only that a sly, tripping foot, unseen in the turmoil, sent her crashing to the floor, while the ball passed into the enemy's keeping, and they scored. 

Inspired by the sweetness of success, Mignon's "dummies" awoke andcarried out the instructions, so often impressed upon them in secret bytheir unscrupulous leader, in a series of plays that for sly roughnesshad never been equalled by any other team that had elected to take thefloor in that gymnasium. Yet so cleverly did they execute them thatbeyond an occasional foul they managed to elude the supposedly-watchfuleyes of the referee, an upper class friend of the French girl's, andrapidly piled up their score. 

When the whistle called the end of the first half it found the score10-8 in favor of the grays. It also found a quintet of enragedblack-clad girls, nursing sundry bruises and vows of vengeance. 

"It's a burning shame!" cried Susan Atwell, the moment the teams hadreached the safety of their dressing room. "I won't stand it. My anklehurts so where some one kicked it that I thought I couldn't finish thefirst half. And poor Harriet! You must have taken an awful fall. "

"I did. " Harriet Delaney was half crying. 

Muriel Harding's dark eyes were snapping with rage and injury. She wasnursing a scraped elbow, which she had received in the melee. "I'm goingstraight to Miss Archer, " she threatened. "I won't play the second halfwith such dishonorable girls. That Miss Dutton, the referee, must knowsomething of the rough way they are playing. But _she_ is a friend ofMignon's. I don't care much if Miss Archer forbids basket ball for therest of the season. I'd rather have it that way than be carried off thefloor, a wreck. I'm going now to find her. She's up in her office. Jerrysaw her just before she came to the gym. Didn't you, Jerry?" She turnedto the stout girl, who had just entered. At the beginning of the game, Jerry, Constance and Irma had hurried to the gallery to watch it. Seasoned fans, they had observed the playing with critical eyes that sawmuch. The instant the first half was over, they had descended to theirfriends with precipitate haste. 

"Yes, she's in her office. " Jerry had appeared in time to hear Muriel'stirade. "I think I _would_ go to her, if I were you, Muriel. Those girlsare a disgrace to Sanford. "

"Let's all go, " proposed Harriet Delaney, wrathfully. "I'd rather dothat than stay and be murdered. "

Marjorie stood regarding her players with brooding eyes. She smiledfaintly at Harriet's vehement utterance. "Girls, " she said in a clear, resolute voice, "I told you this morning that if anything like thishappened I'd go straight to Mignon and have an understanding. I'm going. I wish you to go with me, though. I have a reason for it. " She walkeddeterminedly to the door. 

"What are you going to say to them, Marjorie?" demanded Muriel. "Youmight as well save your breath. They'll only laugh at you. Miss Archeris the person to go to. "

"Not yet. " Marjorie shook her head in gentle contradiction. "Please letme try my way, Muriel. If it doesn't work, then I promise you that I'llgo with you to Miss Archer. Oh, yes. I wish you all to stand by me, butdon't say a word unless I ask you to. Will you trust me?" She glancedwistfully at her little flock. 

"Go ahead, " ordered Muriel shortly. "We'll stand by you. Won't we, girls?"

Three heads nodded on emphatic assent. 

"All right. Come on. We haven't much time left. How many minutes, Jerry?"

"Eight, " replied the stout girl. "Can Irma and Connie and I come, too?"

"No. I'd rather you wouldn't. "

"We'll forgive you. Now beat it. " Although Jerry was earnestlyendeavoring to eliminate slang from her vocabulary, she could not resistthis forceful advice. 

"Suppose we go around through the corridor and use that side doornearest Mignon's dressing room, " suggested Marjorie. "Then we won't benoticed. I'd rather we weren't. This is really private, you know. "

Four black and scarlet figures gloomily followed their leader. Therewere two doors to each dressing room. One led into the gymnasium, whichwas situated in a wing of the school, the other led into the corridor. Through the half-open door of Mignon's dressing room the sound ofexultant voices reached the advancing squad. She stood with her backtoward them. 

"We were a little too much for them. " Mignon's boasting tones broughtfresh resentment to her injured opponents. "I told you that----"

"Miss La Salle!" Marjorie's stern voice caused the French girl to whirlabout. "We heard what you were saying. We came over here to notify youthat we do not intend to play the second half of the game with youunless you give us your promise to play fairly and without unnecessaryroughness. "

Mignon's black eyes blazed. "What do you mean by stealing into our roomand listening to our private conversation?" she demanded passionately. 

Marjorie faced the furious girl with calm, contemptuous eyes. Beforetheir steady gaze, Mignon quailed a trifle. 

"We did not _steal_ into your room. If you had not been so busy boastingover your own unfairness you could have heard our approach. However, that doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is this. Come here, Muriel. " Shebeckoned Muriel to her side. "Show Miss La Salle your elbow, " shecommanded. 

Muriel rolled back her loose sleeve and showed the raw, red spot on hersoft, white arm. 

Mignon laughed sarcastically and shrugged her scorn of the injury. "Youcan't be a baby and play basket ball, " she jeered. 

"Neither can you behave like a savage and expect it to passunnoticed--by at least a few persons, " retorted Marjorie. She wasfighting hard to control the rush of temper which this heartless girlalways brought to the surface. "Harriet was badly shaken up, becausesomeone purposely tripped her. Some one else kicked Susan on the ankle. It is too much. We won't endure it. Now I give you fair warning, if anygirl of my squad is handled roughly during the next half she intends tocall a halt in the game. The rest of us will then leave the floor and goto Miss Archer's office. Think it over. That's all. "

Marjorie turned on her heel. Without so much as a glance toward thediscomfited girls of Mignon's team, she walked from the room, followedby her silently obedient train. 

"Well, _what_ do you think of that?" gasped Louise Selden. Nevertheless, she had had the grace to turn very red during Marjorie's sternarraignment. 

Mignon turned savagely upon the abashed members of her squad. "If youpay any attention to _her_, you are all _babies_, " she hissed. "You areto play the second half just as I told you. Don't let that priggish Deangirl scare you. _She_ wouldn't go to Miss Archer. She knows better thanthat. "

"You're wrong, Mignon. She meant every word she said. " Daisy Griggs'ruddy face had grown suddenly pale. "_I'm_ going to be pretty carefulhow I play the rest of this game. "

"So am I, " echoed Elizabeth Meredith. "If Miss Dean went to Miss Archerit would raise a regular riot. "

Anne Easton and Louise Selden nodded in solemn agreement with Daisy'sbold stand. In her heart each of them stood convicted of unworthiness. The righteous gleam of Marjorie's clear eyes had made them feel mostuncomfortable. 

"You're cowards, every one of you, " burst forth Mignon, her dark facedistorted with rage, "and if----"

"T-r-r-ill!" The referee's whistle was summoning them to the game. 

Mignon ran to her station resolved on vengeance. Four girls followed herto their places divided between two fears. Awe of Miss Archer and thedisaster that would surely overtake them if they persisted in theirformer tactics acted as a spur to their sleeping consciences. Fear ofMignon became a secondary emotion. They vowed within themselves to playfairly and they kept their vow. 

The second half of the game opened very well for Marjorie's team. Shepassed the ball to Susan Atwell, who scored, thereby winning a salvo ofhearty applause from the gallery. The watchful spectators had not beenblind to the unfair methods of the grays. Two goals followed in theirfavor. So far the grays had done nothing. Unnerved by Marjorie's justcensure and the fear of exposure, they paid little heed to Mignon'sglowering glances and frantic signals. They played in a half-hearted, diffident fashion, quite the opposite of their whirlwind sweep duringthe first half. The black and scarlet girls soon brought the score up to14 to 10 in their favor, and from that moment on had things decidedlytheir own way. Time after time Mignon cut in desperately for the basketto receive a pass, but on each occasion her team-mates made a wildthrow. Marjorie's team, however, played with perfect unity, working inseveral successful signal plays. Try as she might, the French girl coulddo nothing to arouse her players. Their passing became so delinquentthat once or twice it brought derisive groans from the male spectatorsin the gallery. As the second half neared its end, Muriel Harding made asensational throw to basket that aroused the gallery to wild enthusiasm. It also served to take the faint remaining spirit from the disheartenedgrays, and the game wound up with a score of 30 to 12 in favor of theblack and scarlet girls. They had won a complete and sweeping victoryover their unworthy opponents. 

It was a proud moment for Marjorie Dean, as she stood surrounded by aflock of jubilant boys and girls, who had rent the gallery air withappreciative howls, then hustled from their places aloft to offer theircongratulations to the victors. 

"I'm so glad you won, Marjorie, " cried Ellen Seymour. Lowering hervoice, she added: "I could see a few things. I'm not the only one. Butwhat happened to them? They actually played fairly in the secondhalf--all except Mignon. But she couldn't do much by herself. "

Marjorie smiled faintly. "We must have discouraged them, I suppose. Wenever before worked together so well as we played in that second half. Wasn't that a wonderful throw to basket that Muriel made?"

"Splendid, " agreed Ellen warmly. "I predict an easy victory for thesophomores on Thanksgiving Day. "

Marjorie breathed relief. "Are you coming to see us play, or are yougoing away for Thanksgiving?" was her tactful question. 

Ellen plunged into a voluble recital of her Thanksgiving plans, quiteforgetting her curiosity over the sudden change of tactics of thedefeated grays. Several girls joined in the conversation, and thus thetalk drifted away from the subject Marjorie wished most to avoid. 

In Mignon's dressing room, however, a veritable tornado had burst. Foursullen, gray-clad girls bowed their heads before the storm ofpassionate reproaches hurled upon them by their irate leader. They wereseeing and hearing Mignon at her worst, and they did not relish it. Itmay be set down to their credit that not one of them took the trouble toanswer her. Beyond a mute exchange of meaning glances, they ignored herscorn, slipping away like shadows when they had changed their basketball suits for street apparel. Outside the high school they congregatedand made solemn agreement that now and forever they were "through" withMignon. 

Several friends of the latter, including Miss Dutton, the referee, dropped into the dressing room, and to them Mignon continued her tirade. But the face of one hitherto ardent supporter was missing. Mary Raymondhad fled from the school the moment the game was ended. For once she hadseen too much of Mignon. She had tried to force herself to believe thatshe was sorry for the latter's deserved defeat, but, in reality, she wasglad that Marjorie's team had won. She determined to go home and waitfor her chum. She would confess that she was sorry for the past and askMarjorie to forgive her. 

Putting her determination into swift action, she left the high schoolbehind her almost at a run. Once she had reached home she paused only tohang her wraps on the hall rack, then posted herself in the living-roomwindow, an anxious little figure. When Marjorie came she would open thehall door for her. She would say, "I surrender, Lieutenant. Pleaseforgive me. " She smiled a trifle sadly to herself in anticipation ofthe forgiving arms that Marjorie would extend to her. She was not sureshe merited forgiveness. 

But when at last Marjorie came in sight of the gate, Mary vented anexclamation of pain and anger. Marjorie was not alone. Up the walk sheloitered, arm-in-arm with Constance Stevens. The old jealousy, forgottenin Marjorie's hour of triumph, swept Mary like a blighting wind. Sheturned and fled from the hated sight that met her eyes, a deserter toher good intentions. 

CHAPTER XX

HOISTING THE FLAG OF TRUCE

Thanksgiving Day walked in amid a flurry of snow, accompanied by aboisterous wind, which roared a bleak reminiscence of that firstThanksgiving Day on a storm rock-bound coast, when a few faithful soulshad braved his fury and gone forth to give thanks for life and liberty. Despite his challenging roar, the boys of Weston High School playedtheir usual game of football against a neighboring eleven and emergedfrom the field of conquest, battered and victorious, to rest in theproud bosoms of their families and devour much turkey. In the afternoon, the long-talked-of game of basket ball came off between the sophomoresand the freshmen. It was an occasion of energetic color-flaunting, inwhich black and scarlet banners predominated. It seemed as though almostevery one in Sanford High School, with the exception of the freshmenthemselves, was devoted heart and soul to the sophomores. The rumor ofthe unfair treatment they had received in the deciding practice game hadbeen noised abroad, and Marjorie and her team mates were in a fair wayto be lionized. A packed gallery, much jubilant singing and franticapplause of every move they made, spurred the black and scarlet girls todoughty deeds, and, although it was a hard-fought battle, in which thefreshmen played for dear life, the sophomores won. 

Altogether, it was a day long to be remembered, and Marjorie lived itfor all that lay within her energetic young body and mind. Only the oneflaw that marred its perfection and left her sober-eyed andretrospective when the eventful holiday was ended. She felt that oneword of commendation from Mary would have been worth more than all thepraise she had received from admiring friends. But Mary was as stony andimplacable as ever, giving no sign of the surrender which ConstanceStevens had unconsciously nipped in the bud. 

Just how Mary spent that particular Thanksgiving Day Marjorie did notlearn until long afterward. She knew only that Mary had left the housedirectly after dinner, merely stating that she intended making severalcalls, and was seen no more until ten o'clock that night, when sheflitted into the house like a ghost and vanished up the stairs to herown room. 

After Thanksgiving, basket ball echoes died out in the growing murmur ofcoming Christmas joys, and like every young girl, Marjorie grewimpatient and enthusiastic over her holiday plans. She did not chatterthem as freely to General and Captain when at table as had been hercustom each year in the happy days when only they three had beentogether. As her formerly lovable self, Marjorie would have felt noreserve in Mary's presence, but this strange, new Mary with her white, immobile face and indifferent eyes, chilled her and killed her desire toexchange the usual gay badinage with her General, which had always mademeal-time a merry occasion. 

"I don't like Mary's effect on our little girl, Margaret. Of late, Marjorie is as solemn as a judge, " remarked Mr. Dean one evening as helingered at the dinner table after Mary and Marjorie had excusedthemselves and gone upstairs on the plea of studying to-morrow'slessons. "I counseled Marjorie, the night I took her to Devon Inn todinner, to let matters work out in their own way. That was some timeago. Perhaps I'd better take a hand and see what I can do toward endingthis internal war. Christmas will soon be here. We can't have our Day ofDays spoiled by one youngster's perversity. "

"I have thought of that, too, " returned Mrs. Dean, smiling, "and I havea plan. I shall need your help to carry it out, though. "

When she had finished the laying out of her clever scheme for acongenial Christmas all around, Mr. Dean threw back his head in a heartylaugh. "It's decidedly ingenious, and in keeping, " was his tribute. "I'll help you put it through, with pleasure. But after Christmas----"He paused, his laughing eyes growing grave. 

"After Christmas our services as peace advocates may not be needed, "supplemented Mrs. Dean. "At least, I hope they may not. I am still ofthe opinion, however, that Mary must be left to repent of her own folly. If she is coaxed and wheedled into good humor she will never realize howbadly she has behaved. "

"I suppose that is so. But, naturally, I am more interested in healingour poor little soldier's hurts than in trying to bring a certainstubborn young person to her senses. We will try out our idea. It willinsure one satisfactory day, I hope. Unless I prove a poor diplomat. "

Although Marjorie's blithe voice was too frequently stilled in Mary'spresence, she was uniformly sunny when she and her Captain were alonetogether. Now fairly familiar with Sanford, Mrs. Dean had made it a partof her daily life to seek and assist certain families among the poor ofthe little northern city. Now that Christmas was so near she was makinga special effort to gladden the hearts of those to whom life had seemedto grudge even daily bread. She had contrived wisely to interestMarjorie in this charitable work, with the idea of taking her mind fromthe bitter disappointment Mary's change of heart had brought her, andhad been touched and gratified at the unselfish eagerness with whichMarjorie had taken up the work. The latter had aroused Jerry Macy's, aswell as Constance Stevens', interest in planning a merry Christmas forthe poor of Sanford. Constance was particularly desirous of helping. Shewould never forget the previous Christmas Eve, when, laden with goodwill and be-ribboned offerings, Marjorie had smilingly appeared at thelittle gray house where Poverty reigned supreme and helped her transformCharlie's rickety express wagon into a veritable fairy couch, piled highwith the precious tokens of unselfish love. She felt that the only wayin which she might show her lasting gratitude for the gifts of thatsnowy Christmas Eve was to share her blessings with others who were inneed, and she quickly became Marjorie's most faithful servitor. 

Good-natured Jerry was also keen to bestow her time and world goods inthe Christmas cause, and almost every afternoon when school was over thethree girls conspired together in the cause of happiness. Marjorieunearthed a trunk of her childish toys from an obscure corner of thegarret, and a great mending and refurbishing movement ensued. Jerry, notto be outdone, canvassed among her friends for suitable gifts to lay atthe shrine of Christmas, which rose to life eternal when three wise menplaced their reverent offerings at the feet of a Holy Child longcenturies before. While Constance Stevens drew largely on a sum ofmoney, which her indulgent aunt had placed in the bank to her credit andenjoyed to the full the blessedness of giving. 

"Maybe we haven't been busy little helpers, though, " declared JerryMacy one blustering afternoon, as the three girls sat in the Deans'living room, surrounded by ribbon-bound packages of all shapes andsizes. "Truly, I never had such a good time before in all my life. "

"That's just the way I feel, " nodded Constance, as she tied anastounding bow of red ribazine about an oblong package thatsuggested a doll, and consulted a fat note book, lying widespread on the library table, for the address of the prospectivepossessor. "Marjorie, will you ever forget how happy Charlie waslast year?"

"Dear little Charlie!" Marjorie's lips smiled tender reminiscence of thetiny boy's jubilation over his wonderful discovery that Santa Claus hadnot forgotten him. "His Christmas will be a merry one this year, even tothe good, strong leg that he hoped Santa would bring him. "

"He can't possibly be any happier than he was _last_ Christmas morning, "was Constance's soft reply. "And it was all through you, Marjorie. "

"Oh, I wasn't the only one. Your father and you and Uncle John gave himthings, and Delia popped the corn for his tree, and, don't you remember, Laurie Armitage brought you the tree and the holly and ground pine?"

Constance flushed slightly at the mention of Lawrence Armitage. Asincere boy and girl friendship had sprung up between them that promisedlater to ripen into perfect love. 

"That reminds me, " broke in Jerry bluntly. "I've something to tell you, girls. Hal told me. He's my most reliable source of information when itcomes to news of Weston High. Laurie is writing an operetta. He's goingto call it 'The Rebellious Princess, ' and he would like to give aperformance of it in the spring. There's to be a big chorus andProfessor Harmon is going to pick a cast from the boys and girls ofWeston and Sanford High Schools. "

"Who is Professor Harmon?" asked Constance curiously. 

"Oh, he's the musical director at Weston High, " answered Jerryoffhandedly. "He looks after the singing and glee clubs there, just asMiss Walters does at Sanford High. You can sing, Connie, and Laurieknows it. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd get the leading part. "

"I'd be more surprised if I did, " laughed Constance, "considering that Idon't even know Professor Harmon when I see him. "

"Laurie will introduce you to him, I guess, " predicted Jerryconfidently. "Hal said something about a try-out of voices. I can'tremember what it was. I'll ask him when I go home. "

"I don't believe I could even sing in a chorus, " laughed Marjorie. "Ihaven't a strong voice. "

"You can look pretty, though, and _that_ counts, " was Jerry's emphaticconsolation. "That's more than I can do. I can't see myself shine, evenin a chorus. I don't sing. I shout, and then I'm always getting off thekey, " she ended gloomily. 

Constance and Marjorie giggled at Jerry's funny description of her vocalpowers. The stout girl's brief gloom vanished in a broad grin. 

"Two more days and Christmas will be here!" exclaimed Marjorie with ajoyous little skip, which caused a pile of packages on the floor nearher to tumble in all directions. 

"Easy there!" warned Jerry. Secretly she was delighted at her friend'slightsome mood. Marjorie had been altogether too serious of late. Privately, she had frequently wished that Mary Raymond had never setfoot in Sanford. 

The early December dusk had fallen when, the last package wrapped, Constance and Jerry said good-bye to Marjorie. "I'll be over bright andearly Christmas morning, " reminded Constance. "Remember, you are comingto Gray Gables on Christmas night, Marjorie. Charlie made me promise foryou ahead of time. I'd love to have you come, too, Jerry. "

"Can't do it. Thank you just the same, but the Macys far and near aregoing to hold forth at our house and poor little Jerry will have to stayat home and do the agreeable hostess act, " declared Jerry, lookingcomically rueful. 

"I'll surely be there, Connie. I'll bring my offerings with me. Don'tyou forget that you are due at the Deans' residence on Christmasmorning. Bring Charlie with you. "

After her friends had gone, Marjorie went into the living room tospeculate for the hundredth time on the subject of Mary's present. Itwas a beautiful little neckchain of tiny, square, gold links, similar toone her Captain had given her on her last birthday. Mary had frequentlyadmired it in times past and for months Marjorie had saved a portionfrom her allowance with which to buy it. She had a theory that a gift toone's dearest friends should entail self-sacrifice on the part of thegiver. Mary's changed attitude toward her had not counted. She was stillresolved upon giving her the chain. But how was she to do it? Andsuppose when she offered it Mary were to refuse it?

The entrance of her mother broke in upon her unhappy speculations. "I'mglad you came, Captain, " she said. "I've been trying to think how I hadbest give Mary her present. "

"Then don't worry about it any longer, " comforted Mrs. Dean. Steppingover to the low chair in which Marjorie sat she passed her arm about hertroubled daughter and drew her close. "That is a part of my plan. Waituntil Christmas morning and you will know. "

"Tell me now, " coaxed Marjorie, snuggling comfortably into the hollow ofthe protecting arm. 

"That would be strictly against orders, " came the laughing response. "Have patience, Lieutenant. "

"All right, I will. " Sturdily dismissing her curiosity, Marjorie began adetailed account of the afternoon's labor, which lasted until Mr. Deancame rollicking in and engaged Marjorie in a rough-and-tumble romp thatleft her flushed and laughing. 

Despite her many errands of good will and charity, the next two daysdragged interminably. On Christmas Eve Mr. Dean took his family and Maryto the theatre to see a play that had had a long, successful run in NewYork City the previous season and was now doomed to the road. After theplay they stopped at Sargent's for a late supper. Under Mr. Dean'sgenial influence Mary thawed a trifle and even went so far as to addressMarjorie several times, to the latter's utter amazement. This was inreality the beginning of Mrs. Dean's carefully laid plan. Marjorieguessed as much and wondered hopefully as to what might happen next. 

Nothing special occurred that evening, however, except that Mary badeher a curt "good night. " But Marjorie hugged even that short utteranceto her heart and went to sleep in a buoyantly hopeful state of mind. 

She was awakened the next morning by a military tattoo, rapped on herdoor by energetic fingers. "Report to the living room for duty, "commanded a purposely gruff voice, which she was not slow to recognize. 

"Merry Christmas, General, " she called. "Lieutenant Dean will report inthe living room in about three minutes. " Hopping out of bed she reachedfor her bath robe. Then the sound of tapping fingers again came to herears. This time they were on Mary's door. Hastily drawing on stockingsand bed-room slippers, she sped from her room and down the stairs. Herfather stood stiffly at the foot of the stairway in his mostgeneral-like manner. She saluted and came to attention. A moment or twoof waiting followed, then Mary appeared at the head of the stairs. Shebegan to descend slowly, but Mr. Dean called out, "No lagging in theline, " and long obedience to orders served to make her quicken her pace. 

"Twos right, march, " ordered Mr. Dean, motioning toward the living room. 

Wonderingly the company of two obeyed. Then two pairs of eyes werefastened upon a curious object that stood upright in the middle of theliving-room table. It was a good-sized flag of pure white. 

"Form ranks!" came the order. 

Two girlish figures lined up, side by side. 

"Salute the Flag of Truce, " commanded the wily General. 

Mary gave an audible gasp of sheer amazement. Marjorie laughed outright. 

"Silence in the ranks, " bellowed the stern commandant. "Pay strictattention to what I am about to say. In time of war it sometimes becomesnecessary to hoist a flag of truce. This means a suspense ofhostilities. The flag of truce is hoisted in this house for all day. Itwill remain so until twelve o'clock to-night. Respect it. Now breakranks and we'll enjoy our Christmas presents. I hope my army hasn'tforgotten its worthy General!"

"Mary, " Marjorie's voice trembled. Tears blurred her brown eyes. "It'sChristmas morning. Will you kiss me?"

Mary was possessed with a contrary desire to turn and rush upstairs. Shefelt dimly that to kiss Marjorie was to declare peace against her will. But her better nature whispered to her not to ruin the peace ofYuletide. She would respect the flag of truce for one day. Then shecould give Marjorie the ring she had bought for her before coming toSanford and laid away for Christmas. Afterward she would show her thatshe had softened merely for the time being. She returned Marjorie'saffectionate kiss rather coolly. Nevertheless, the ice was broken. 

Five minutes later she found herself running upstairs for her presentsfor the Deans in an almost happy mood, and she joined in the presentgiving with a heartiness that was far from forced. Once she had ceasedto resist Marjorie's winning advances she was completely drawn into thedivine spirit of the occasion, and she allowed herself to drift oncemore into the dear channel of bygone friendship. 

Marjorie fairly bubbled over with exuberant happiness. The unbelievablehad come to pass. She and Mary were once more chums. She longed to tellMary all that was in her heart, but refrained. For to-day it was betterto live on the surface of things. Later there would be plenty of timefor confidences. After breakfast she mentioned rather timidly that sheexpected a call from Constance and little Charlie. 

Mary received the statement with an apparent docility that broughtwelcome relief to Marjorie. She was not sure of her chum on this onepoint. When Constance and Charlie arrived at a little after ten o'clock, burdened with gaily decked bundles, Marjorie's fears were set at rest. To be sure, Mary showed no enthusiasm over Constance, but Charlie was adifferent matter. She had conceived a strange, deep love for the quaintlittle boy and spared no pains to entertain him. While she was puttingMarjorie's beautiful angora cat, Ruffle, through a series of cunninglittle tricks, which he performed with sleepy indolence, Marjoriemanaged to say to Constance, "I can't come to see you to-night, Connie. I'll explain some day soon. You understand. "

Constance nodded wisely. Nothing could have induced her to mar thereconciliation which had evidently taken place. "Come when you can, " shemurmured. Generously leaving herself out of the question, she purposelyshortened her stay, although Charlie pleaded to remain. 

"I'll come again soon, " he assured Mary, as he was being towed off byhis sister's determined hand. "I like you almost as well as Connie. "

Marjorie's glorious day was over all too soon. She hovered about Marywith a friendly solicitude that could not be denied. The lattergraciously allowed her the privilege, but behind her pleasant mannerthere was a hint of reserve, which did not dawn upon Marjorie until latethat evening. At first she reproached herself for even imagining it, butas bedtime approached the conviction grew that when twelve o'clock cameMary would again resume her hostile attitude. 

"It is time taps was sounded, " reminded Mr. Dean, looking up from hisbook, as the grandfather's clock in the living room pointed half pasteleven. Mrs. Dean sat placidly reading a periodical. 

"We'll obey you, General, as soon as we've finished our game. " Marjorielooked up from the backgammon board at which she and Mary were seated. It had always been a favorite game with them and Marjorie had proposedplaying to relieve the curious sensation of apprehension that wasgradually settling down upon her. 

It was five minutes to twelve when she put the board away. Mary hadstrolled to the living-room door. Pausing for an instant she said, asthough reciting a lesson, "I've had a lovely day. Thank you all for mypresents. " Without waiting for replies, she turned and mounted thestairs. The sound of a door, closed with certain decision, floated downto the three in the living room. 

Marjorie walked slowly to the table, and drawing the flag of truce fromits improvised standard, handed it to her father. "I knew it would endlike that, General, " she commented sadly. "I felt it coming all evening. Just the same it was a splendid plan, and I thank you for it. " Shelingered lovingly to kiss her father and mother good night, then marchedto her room with a brave face. But as she passed the door that had oncemore been closed against her she vowed within herself that from thismoment forth she would cease to mourn for the "friendship" of a girl whowas so heartless as Mary Raymond. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE LAST STRAW

It had been Mary Raymond's firm intention when she closed her door thatChristmas night to resume hostilities the next day. But when she metMarjorie at breakfast the following morning, her desire for continuedwarfare had vanished. Some tense chord within her stubborn soul hadsnapped. Looking back on yesterday she realized that it had not beenworth while. Now her proud spirit cried for peace. She wished she hadnot been so ready to doubt her chum's loyalty and with a curiousrevulsion of feeling she began to long for a reinstatement into heraffections. 

But her perfunctory "good night" had cost her more than she dreamed. Ithad awakened a tardy resentment in Marjorie's hitherto forgiving heartthat she could not readily efface. Outwardly Marjorie seemed the same. She returned Mary's greeting pleasantly enough, showing nothing of thesurprise it had given her. Mary was not destined to learn for some timeto come that a reaction had taken place. 

Mr. And Mrs. Dean were relieved to find that Marjorie's prediction wasnot verified. To all appearances the two girls had definitely resumedtheir old, friendly footing. Only Marjorie knew differently, but she didnot intend then or on any future occasion to betray herself, even to herCaptain. 

As the winter days glided swiftly along the road to Spring, it wascirculated about among Marjorie's intimate friends that she and Mary hadsettled their differences. Keen-eyed Jerry Macy, however, had seendeeper than her classmates. Although Mary now occasionally walked homewith them or accompanied them to Sargent's, spending considerably lesstime with Mignon, Jerry was quick to feel rather than note the slightreserve Marjorie exhibited toward Mary. "Don't you believe they've madeup, " she declared to Irma Linton. "Mary may think they have, but theyhaven't. I guess Marjorie's grown tired of Mary's nonsense. I'm glad ofit. She's a silly little goose, I mean Mary, and she's lost more thanshe thinks. "

It was on a sunny afternoon in late March, however, before Mary wasrudely jolted into the same conclusion. Mignon La Salle was alsopossessed of "the seeing eye. " Mary was no longer her devoted satellite, although she still kept up an indifferent kind of friendship with theFrench girl. Mignon soon divined the cause of her lagging allegiance. "You are a little idiot, Mary Raymond, to follow Marjorie Dean about asyou do. She doesn't care a snap for you. She may treat you nicely, butthat's as far as it goes. She cares more for that miserable Stevens girlin a minute than she cares for _you_ in a whole year. Why can't you lether alone and chum with some one who appreciates you. "

"I don't follow Marjorie about, " contested Mary hotly. "I never goanywhere with her unless she asks me. "

"She merely does that through courtesy, " shrugged Mignon. "I suppose shethinks it her duty. She's a prig and I despise her. "

Mary's face flamed at the obnoxious word "duty. " In a flash her mindreviewed all that had passed since that memorable Christmas day. Hercheeks grew hotter at the brutal truth of Mignon's words. 

"If you think I care anything about her, you have made a mistake, " sheretorted, stung to untruthfulness by the taunt. "I'll soon prove to youthat I don't. "

"Stop running around with her and her wonderful friends and I'll believeyou, " sneered Mignon. 

"I will, if only to show you that I don't care, " flung back the angrygirl. 

"That's the way to talk, " approved Mignon. She had kept but few friendsamong the sophomores since that fatal practice game and she did notintend to lose Mary from her diminished circle. Besides, she was certainthat the Deans, one and all, did not approve of Mary's friendship withher and it accorded her supreme pleasure to annoy them. 

"I'm going to give a fancy dress party two weeks from Friday night, " shewent on, with an abrupt change of subject. "Nearly all the girls I'mintending to invite are juniors and seniors. We'll have a glorious time. I don't have to strip our living room of furniture for a place to dance. I have a _real_ ballroom in my home. I'll send you an invitation in aday or two. "

Surely enough, three days after Mignon's announcement the invitation wasduly delivered to Mary through the mail. She read it listlessly. She wasnot keen about attending the party. Marjorie merely smiled when Maryshowed her the invitation and briefly announced her intention of going. She graciously offered the Snow White costume she had worn at themasquerade of the previous Spring. Mary declined it coldly. She had notforgotten Mignon's taunts. Since then she had kept strictly to herself, steadily refusing Marjorie's polite invitations to accompany her hereand there. Earlier in the year Marjorie would have grieved in secretover this frostiness, but Marjorie had hardened her gentle heart and nowfancied that Mary's movements were of small concern to her. And so thewall of misunderstanding towered higher and higher. 

Mrs. Dean willingly helped Mary plan a cunning little girl costume, andwhen on the night of the party she entered the living room in obedienceto her Captain's call, "Come here and let us see how you look, Mary, " alump rose in Marjorie's throat. In her short, white, embroidered frock, with its Dutch neck and wide, blue ribbon sash, she looked preciselylike the pretty child that she had been when she and Marjorie played"house" together in the Raymonds' backyard. The blue silk stockings andheelless, blue kid slippers emphasized the babyish effect of hercostume, and Marjorie had hard work to keep back her tears. But Marycould not read that sudden rush of emotion in the calm, uncritical facewhich Marjorie turned to her. 

Mignon had sent her runabout for Mary and it was a trifle after eighto'clock when the La Salle's chauffeur drove up the wide, handsomedriveway to Mignon's home. It was an unusually mild evening in April andas they neared the port-cochere, a slim figure in gypsy dress ran downthe steps. "I've been watching for you, " called Mignon, as Mary steppedfrom the runabout. "The musicians are here and so are most of the girls. I can't imagine why the boys don't come. Only six have appeared, so far. We've had one dance, " she went on crossly. "Some of the girls had todance together. Wasn't that horrid? Take off your cloak and let me seeyour costume. It's sweet. "

The chauffeur had disappeared and the two girls stood for an instant atthe foot of the steps. 

Advancing suddenly out of the darkness marched a sturdy little figure. Under its arm was thrust a diminutive violin case. "How do you do?" itgreeted with a quaint, bobbing bow. "I comed to play in the band. "

With a quick exclamation of surprise, Mary Raymond darted toward thetiny youngster. "Charlie Stevens!" she gasped. "What are you doing awayover here after dark?"

"I comed to play in the band, " repeated Charlie with a jubilant wave ofhis violin case that almost sent it hurtling from his baby fingers. "Uncle John comed and so I comed, too. "

Mary knelt on the driveway and gathered him into her round, young arms. "Listen to Mary, dear little boy. Did Charlie run away?" She had heardfrom Marjorie of Charlie's frequent attempts to sally forth to conquerthe world with his violin. 

The child's sensitive face clouded. His lip quivered. "Connie says Ihave to always tell the truth, " he wailed. "I runned away because I haveto play in the big band. A man comed to see Uncle John this afternoon. Iheard him talk about the band. Uncle John comed to play in it, so Icomed, too. Only he didn't see me. I kept behind him till he got to thegate. Then after a while I comed, too!"

Mignon La Salle stood watching the wailing aspirant for the "big band"with frowning eyes. "I suppose this ridiculous child belongs to thoseStevens, " she sneered. 

"Ain't a 'diclus child, " contradicted Charlie with dignity. "I'm amesishun. I can play the fiddle. I like Mary. I don't like you. "

"I have heard that this Stevens boy was an idiot. Now I believe it, "snapped Mignon. "I suppose I'll have to take him in until some one comesafter him. I didn't know his uncle was to be one of the musicians. If Ihad, I would have made the leader hire some other man. I sha'n't tellhis uncle that he's here. He's hired to play for my dance, not to wastehis time taking a simpleton home. It's a perfect nuisance. "

Her long hoop ear-rings swung and shook with the vehemence of herdispleasure. 

Mary Raymond's face changed from red to white as she listened to theFrench girl's callous speech. A lover of all children, she could notendure the slight put upon this tiny boy. She straightened up with analacrity that nearly threw Charlie off his balance. Her blue eyesflashed with righteous wrath. "How can you be so harsh with this cunningboy?" she cried. "He isn't an idiot or a simpleton! He's as brightas--as----" (courtesy conquered) "as any child of his age. Why, he'sonly a baby. He's not going into your house, either, to wait for hisfamily to find him. He's going home now, and I'm going to take him. "

"You can't go very far in that short dress and those thin slippers, "mocked Mignon. "Don't be a silly. Bring him in, I say, and hurry. I mustgo back to my guests. "

"Please go to them, " Mary spoke in icily dignified tones. "As for me, Ihave my cloak. " She held forth one bare arm on which swung her long, gray evening cape. "I should never forgive myself if I neglected thislittle tot. I'm sorry to be so rude, but I can't help it. I'm going now. Good night. Come, Charlie. " Wrapping her cloak about her, Mary gentlydisengaged the violin case from Charlie's clutch, tucked it under onearm and took firm hold of the youngster's hand. Charlie was stillregarding Mignon's swaying ear-rings with childish fascination. 

"You are a orful naughty girl, " he pouted reproachfully. 

"If you leave me now to take that impudent child home, I'll never speakto you again, " threatened Mignon, her black eyes snapping. 

"Very well. You may do as you please, " was Mary's laconic response overher shoulder. She had already started down the driveway with herventuresome charge. The little boy had been momentarily awed intosilence at Mignon's menacing features. 

"She's a cross girl, " he observed calmly, as he marched along besideMary, "but we don't care, do we?"

"_No_, we _don't_, " came emphatically from Mary's lips. And she meantit. 

CHAPTER XXII

FACE TO FACE WITH HERSELF

Although Mary Raymond had deliberately snapped the chain that bound herto Mignon La Salle, she now found herself confronted by a far moredifficult task. How was she to return little Charlie to Gray Gableswithout meeting Constance Stevens or another member of her family? Itwas not yet nine o'clock. It was, therefore, barely possible thatCharlie had not been missed. Perhaps Constance and her aunt were not athome. It stood to reason that if they had been, Charlie would never havesucceeded in slipping away and following John Roland to his evening'sassignment. 

Once outside the La Salle's gate, Mary paused uncertainly. Charlietugged impatiently at her hand. "Come on, Mary. Take Charlie home, " hedemanded. 

Apparently unmindful of the child's presence, Mary stood still, staringthoughtfully up and down the moonlit street. It was an unusually mildnight for that time of year, and the ground was bare of snow. March wasin a deceptive, springlike mood, smiling and sunny by day, with themerest touch of snappiness by night. Nevertheless, it was scarcely anoccasion for a walk in thin kid slippers and silk stockings, and Maryshivered slightly as she stood there trying to decide what was to bedone. 

"Listen to Mary, Charlie boy, " she began suddenly, bending down andlooking seriously into the child's bright, black eyes. "Where wereConnie and Auntie when you ran away?"

"_They_ runned away from Charlie, " was the prompt reply, given with anaggrieved pout. "Charlie wanted to go, too, and Connie said 'no. ' Theywented to the the'ter where the band plays all the time. "

"And where was nurse?"

"She wented away, too, but Connie didn't know it. She thought Charliedidn't know, either. But she told Bessie, and Charlie heard. "

"So, that is the reason, " murmured Mary. Then she said to Charlie, "IfMary takes you home will you promise her something?"

"Yes, " nodded Charlie. 

"Then promise Mary that you won't tell anyone you ran away, or that Marybrought you home. "

"Aren't you going to tell Connie that Charlie was a naughty boy?" camethe anxious question. 

"No, not unless someone sees Charlie when he goes home and asks aboutit. "

"Then Charlie won't tell, either, " was the calm response. The boy wasproving himself anything but a simpleton. 

"All right. Now we must hurry. " Mary took firm hold of the tiny hand andthe two started for Gray Gables as fast as the boy's small feet wouldpermit of walking. It was not far from the La Salle's home to GrayGables. Mary was thankful for that. Not in the least oppressed with asense of his own shortcomings, Charlie kept up an animated conversationduring the short walk. He even proposed stopping in the middle of thestreet to demonstrate for her special edification his prowess as afiddler. Mary vetoed this proposal, however. She was bent on reachingGray Gables as soon as possible. 

Just inside the grounds she halted and viewed the house with speculativeeyes. Lights gleamed from the hall, the living room, and from oneupstairs window. Then, with Charlie's hand still in hers, she walkedboldly up the driveway and mounted the steps. Within the shieldingshadow of the veranda she paused for a long moment and listened. Turningto the child she laid her finger on her lips with a gesture of silence. Charlie beamed understandingly. Mary's strange behavior was asinteresting to him as though it were a new game invented for hispleasure. He entered completely into the spirit of it. 

"Now, " whispered the girl, "Mary is going to ring the bell and run away. Charlie must stand still and wait until someone opens the door. If noone comes, Charlie must ring the bell again. And remember, he mustn'ttell who brought him home!"

"Charlie won't tell, " gravely assured the youngster. 

Mary pressed a firm finger on the bell and held it there for a second. Then she darted down the steps, around a corner of the house and acrossa wide stretch of frozen lawn. She remembered that she could climb thelow fence at the back of the grounds, cut across a field which lay belowthem and emerge on a small street not far from the Deans' home. She didnot pause for breath until she reached the street she had in mind. Flushed and panting from her wild flight it was several minutes beforeshe could compose herself sufficiently to go on toward home. Luckily forher she met but two persons, a boy of perhaps fifteen and a laboringman. Neither gave her more than the merest glance. 

But her last ordeal was yet to come. What would Marjorie and her motherthink when they saw her? They would immediately guess that somethingunusual must have happened to bring her home from the party before ithad hardly more than begun. Her recent experience had left her in nomood for explanations. She decided to try slipping quietly in at therear door of the house. There was, of course, a possibility that itmight be locked, but if it were not--so much the better for her. 

There was an instant of breathless suspense as she noiselessly turnedthe knob. It yielded to her touch, and she stole into the kitchen and upthe back stairs like an unsubstantial shadow of the night, rather than avery tired and sore-hearted girl. Once in her room she sat down on herbed to think things over. She dared not move about for fear of beingheard by Marjorie or her mother. Long she sat, moodily reviewing theyear that had promised so much, yet had yielded her nothing butdissension and sorrow. One bare, ugly fact confronted her, looming uplike a hideous monster whose dreadful claws had shredded her peace ofmind and now waved at her the tattered fragments. It had all been herfault. For the first time she saw herself as she really was. A jealous, suspicious, hateful girl. It was she, not Marjorie, who had beenunfaithful to friendship. But she had gone on blindly, unreasoningly, preferring to think the worst, until now it was too late to bridge thegap that she had daily widened between herself and her chum by herabsurd jealousy. She could never regain her lost ground. She felt thatMarjorie's patience with her had long since been exhausted. She darednot, could not, plead for reinstatement. All that remained to be donewas to go through the rest of that dreadful year alone. When she andMarjorie had finished their sophomore course she would go quietly away, and they would, perhaps, never meet again. 

Alone with her bitter remorse, Mary wept until she could cry no more. As is usually the case with youth, she was sweeping in herself-condemnation. But that bitter hour of self-revelation did more toarouse within her the determination to conquer herself and establish thefoundation for a noble womanhood than she could possibly believe. 

At last she pulled herself together to play the final scene in herevening's drama. Mrs. Dean had given her a latchkey, in order that shemight let herself into the house, should she return from the party afterthe Deans had retired. At half-past ten o'clock she heard Marjorie andher mother come up the stairs to their rooms. Mr. Dean was away fromhome on a business trip. When all sounds of conversation between the twowomen had ceased and the house had apparently settled down for thenight, Mary crept softly out of her room and down the stairs. Openingthe hall door with stealthy fingers, she stepped into the vestibule. Shelistened intently for a sign from above that her soft-footed journeydown the stairs had been discovered. But none came. Turning deliberatelyabout, she retraced her steps, closing the hall door with sufficientforce to announce her arrival. Without attempt at stealth she walkedacross the hall, up the stairs and into the pretty blue room that shehad lately left. The closing of her own door purposely sounded her homecoming. 

"Is that you, Mary?" called Marjorie's voice from the next room. 

Mary trembled with positive relief at the signal success of hermanoeuver. Steadying her voice, she replied, "Yes, it is I. "

"Did you have a nice time?"

Mary read merely polite inquiry in the tone. It lacked Marjorie's formerwarmth and affection. 

"Not particularly. " Impulsively she added, "I missed you, Marjorie. I'msorry you weren't there. " Breathlessly she waited for a response. 

But Marjorie was only human. Resentment against Mignon, rather thanMary, permeated her reply. "It's nice in you to say so, but I am veryglad I wasn't there. I should consider an invitation to Mignon LaSalle's party as anything but an honor. " It was the first deliberatelycutting speech that Marjorie Dean had ever uttered. Realizing itscruelty she called out contritely, "That was hateful in me, Mary. Pleaseforget what I said. "

"Oh, it doesn't matter. Good night. " Mary managed to force theindifferent answer. She felt that she deserved even this and more. Shewas rapidly learning to her sorrow that, when one plants nettles, intime they are sure to grow up and sting. 

CHAPTER XXIII

FOR THE FAME OF SANFORD HIGH

When Marjorie Dean went down to breakfast the following morning it waswith the feeling that her sharp answer to Mary's unexpected comments ofthe night before had been unworthy of her better self. Mary's reply, "Oh, it doesn't matter, " had somehow sounded wistful rather thanindifferent. To be sure, Mary had literally forced upon her the reservedstand which she had at last taken. Yet underneath her proud attitude ofdistant courtesy toward the girl who had once taken first place in herfriendship still lurked the faint hope of reconciliation. But she hadmade her last advance on that memorable Christmas day when Mary hadshown her so plainly that she respected the flag of truce for the dayonly and had returned to her former state of antagonism at the firstopportunity. In the beginning it had been hard to stifle her impulsivenature, and appear courteous yet wholly unconcerned regarding her chum'swelfare, but in time she found it comparatively easy. Friendship wasdying hard, yet it _was_ dying, nevertheless. This thought had startledMarjorie a little as she recalled how easy it had been to bedisagreeable, where once it would have seemed absolutely impossible toallow those cutting words to pass her lips. It came soberly to her thatmorning as she walked into the dining room that, after all, she did notwish that friendship to die. Something must be done to keep it aliveuntil Mary was quite herself again. 

The faint line of concern which appeared between her dark brows deepenedas this latest conviction took hold of her. As she pondered, the objectof her thoughts appeared in the doorway. Mary's face wore an air oflistlessness that quite corresponded with her subdued, "Good morning, Marjorie. Good morning, Captain. "

"You look all tired out, my dear, " remarked Mrs. Dean solicitously. There was a curiously pathetic droop to Mary's mouth which gave her theappearance of a very tired child who had played too hard and was readyto be put to bed, rather than to begin the day's round of events. "Didyou dance too much?"

"No. " A peculiar little smile flickered across the girl's pale features. She wondered what Mrs. Dean would say if she told her just how she hadspent her evening. 

Marjorie regarded Mary almost curiously. In some indefinable way she hadchanged. Then it flashed across her that Mary's usual stubbornexpression had given place to one of distinct sadness. With a kindlyendeavor toward lightening her chum's heavy mood, she tried to draw herout to talk of the party. She met with little success. As Mary, inreality, knew nothing further of it than the fact that Mignon had worn agypsy costume and that the majority of the boys invited had not put inan appearance, she was hardly prepared to describe the affair. She, therefore, answered Marjorie's questions in brief monosyllables andvolunteered no information whatever. 

"I am going over to see Jerry Macy this morning. Would you like to gowith me?" asked Marjorie, after her attempt to discuss the party hadproved futile. 

"No; I thank you just the same. I have several things to buy at thestores, and then I am going for a walk. I would ask you to go with me, only you are going to Jerry's. "

"I'd love to, " a touch of Marjorie's old heartiness came to the surface, "but I promised Jerry I'd surely go to see her to-day. "

"Perhaps we can take a walk some other day, " remarked Mary vaguely asthey rose from the table. 

"I will take you both for a ride this afternoon, if you are good, "volunteered Mrs. Dean. She had been observing the signs. She decided, within herself, that matters were assuming a more hopeful turn. Yet shehad long since left the two girls to work out their problem in their ownway. 

"That will be splendid!" cried Marjorie. 

"I should like to go, " acceded Mary almost shyly. 

Mrs. Dean smiled to herself and saw light ahead. The barrier seemedabout to crumble. 

But as the days went by, both she and Marjorie grew puzzled over thechange in blue-eyed Mary. She had, indeed, lost her belligerent spiritof animosity, but a profound melancholy had settled down upon her like apall. Gradually it became noised about in school that Mary Raymond andMignon La Salle were no longer on speaking terms. Why this was so, noone knew. Mary was mute on the subject. For once, also, the French girlhad nothing to say. As it happened, she believed that no one of theguests had witnessed the scene between herself and Mary, and to try torelate it, even with emendations of her own, would hardly redound to hercredit. She was too shrewd not to know that the average person resentsan affront against childhood. Then, too, Constance Stevens was makingrapid strides toward popularity among the girls of Sanford High Schooland her cowardly nature warned her to be silent. But her chief reasonfor silence lay in the fact that Mary had curtly informed her on theMonday morning following the party that she had seen Charlie safelyhome, that so far as she could learn his family did not know who hadescorted him home, and that if she, Mignon, were wise she would saynothing whatever of the occurrence. Without further words, Mary hadwalked away, but that same afternoon she had removed her wraps toanother locker, a significant sign that she was done with the Frenchgirl forever. 

When it came to Marjorie's ears that Mary and Mignon had quarreled, shedecided a trifle sadly that Mary's melancholy was due to the Frenchgirl's defection. She was sure that, whatever the quarrel had beenabout, Mignon was to blame. Until then she had never quite believed inthe sincerity of Mary's affection for this unscrupulous, headstronggirl, and it hurt her to see Mary take the estrangement so to heart. 

She said as much to Constance Stevens as they walked home from schooltogether on the Monday following the Easter vacation. To Marjorie theEaster holidays had been a continuous succession of good times. She hadattended half a dozen parties given by her various schoolmates, andnumerous luncheons and teas. To all these Mary had received invitationsalso. She had politely declined them, however, going on long, lonelywalks by day and moping in the living room or her own room by night. 

"Somehow, " Marjorie confided to Constance, "I never believed Mary couldbe so deceived in a person. But she must think a lot of Mignon, or shewouldn't be so dreadfully sad all the time. "

"It's queer, " mused Constance. "I don't think she knows to this day thetruth about last year. "

"I am sure she doesn't. Mary is really too honorable to stand bya--a--person that you and I know isn't worthy of loyalty. That soundsrather hard, especially from one of the reform party. But I can't helpit. I am quite ready to say and mean it, Mignon La Salle hasn't a betterself. She never had one!"

"It hasn't been very pleasant for you this year, has it?" wasConstance's sympathizing question. "It's too bad. After all the nicethings we had planned. Sometimes I think it is better not to make plans. They never turn out as one hopes they will. "

"I know it, " rejoined Marjorie with a sigh. "Jerry Macy says that Maryhas something on her mind besides Mignon. "

"Perhaps she is sorry that she----" Constance hesitated. 

"That we aren't chums any more?" finished Marjorie. "I don't think so. If she had been truly sorry she would have come to me and said so. Ithought so the day after Mignon's party. Then I heard that they hadquarreled, and I changed my opinion. " There was a faint touch ofbitterness in Marjorie's speech. "Suppose we don't talk of it any more. I wish to forget it, if I can. It doesn't do much good to mourn overwhat can't and won't be changed. Did Jerry tell you that Laurie Armitagehas finished his operetta? Professor Harmon is going to have a try-outof voices in the gymnasium next Saturday morning. "

"Laurie told me himself. He brought the score of the operetta to GrayGables last night and we tried it over on the piano. The music isbeautiful. It is so tuneful it lingers. I've been humming snatches of itever since he played it for me. The 'Rebellious Princess' has somewonderful songs. That clever young man, Eric Darrow, composed thelibretto and thought out the plot. It's about a princess who grew tiredof staying at home in her father's castle and going to state dinners andreceptions, so she put on the dress of a peasant girl and ran away fromthe castle to see the world. She took some gold with her, but it wasstolen from her the very first thing. No one paid any attention to herbecause she was poor, and she had a dreadfully hard time. But she was sostubborn she wouldn't go back to her father and say she was sorry, soshe wandered on until her clothes were ragged and her shoes were wornout. Then an old woman took the poor princess to live with her and shehad to work terribly hard and wait on the woman's daughter, who lovednothing but pretty clothes and to have a good time. No one was good toher except the woman's adopted son, who was left on her doorstep when hewas a baby. At last the princess grew so tired of it all she went backto her father, but to punish her he pretended he didn't know her. Soshe had to go away again, but the woman's son had followed her and whenhe saw her leave the castle, crying, he told her he loved her and askedher to marry him. She said 'yes, ' because he was the only person in theworld who cared for her. But her father hadn't really intended that sheshould go away. He sent his courtiers after her to bring her back to thecastle. She wanted to go back, but she wouldn't go unless the young manwent with her. When he found out that she was really a great princess hesaid he would never dare to ask her to marry him. But she said that truelove was better than all the wealth in the world, and she would not goback unless he went with her, and so he said he would go. That is wherethe operetta ends. They sing a duet, 'True Love Is Best, ' and you haveto imagine what the king said. There isn't so much in the plot, but itis very sweet, and the music is delightful, " finished Constance. 

"I know I shall love to hear it!" exclaimed Marjorie. "I do hope youwill be chosen to sing the part of the princess. "

Constance flushed. "Laurie wishes me to have it, " she said almosthumbly. "But there are sure to be others who can sing it better than I. However, the try-out will settle that. At any rate, I may be chosen fora court lady in the chorus. I hope you'll be in it, too. "

"I can't sing well enough, " laughed Marjorie. "But I'll be there onSaturday, and perhaps I'll be lucky enough to get into it somehow. Won'tit be fun to rehearse? Hal Macy ought to have a part. He has a splendidtenor voice, and the Crane can sing bass. I can hardly wait untilSaturday comes. I am so anxious to see who will be chosen. "

Marjorie's pleasant anxiety was shared by the majority of the girls ofSanford High School. The proposed operetta became the chief topic fordiscussion as the unusually long week dragged interminably along towardthat fateful Saturday. Even the high and mighty seniors condescended tobecome interested. Among their number, more than one ambitious seekerafter fame secretly imagined herself as carrying off the rôle of theRebellious Princess, and conducted assiduous practice of much neglectedscales in the hope of glory to come. 

As the star singer of her class, Constance Stevens' name was oftenbrought up for discussion among her classmates as the possiblysuccessful contestant in the try-out. Besides, was it not LawrenceArmitage's opera? It was generally known that the dark-haired, dreamy-eyed lad had a decided predeliction for Constance's society. Rumor, therefore, decreed that if Laurie Armitage had the say, Constancewould have no trouble in carrying off the leading rôle. 

But the most determined aspirant for fame was none other than Mignon LaSalle. With her usual slyness, she kept her own counsel. Nevertheless, she believed she stood a fair chance of winning the prize of which shedreamed. For Mignon could sing. From childhood her father had spared noexpense in the matter of her musical education. An ardent lover ofmusic he had decreed that Mignon should be initiated into the mysteriesof the piano when a tiny girl, and, although Mr. La Salle had allowedher undisputed liberty to grow up as she pleased, on one point he wasfirm. Mignon must not merely study music; she must each day practice therequired number of hours. In the beginning she had rebelled, but findingher too indulgent parent adamant in this one particular, she had beenforced to bow her obstinate head to his decree. In consequence sheprofited by the enforced practice hours to the extent of becoming areally creditable performer on the piano for a girl of her years. Atfourteen she had begun vocal training. Possessed of a strong, clear, soprano voice, three years under the direction of competent instructorshad done much for her, and, although she was far too selfish to use herfine voice merely to give pleasure to others, she never allowed anopportunity to pass wherein she might win public approval by hersinging. 

The mere fact that "The Rebellious Princess" was Lawrence Armitage's owncomposition served to spur her on to conquest. Given the leading rôle, she believed that she might awaken in the young man a distinctappreciation of herself which hitherto he had never demonstrated towardher. Once she had brought him to a tardy realization of her superiorityover Constance Stevens, by outsinging the latter, along with all theother contestants, she was certain that admiration for herself as asinger would blot out any unpleasant impression he might earlier haveconceived of her. She had heard that "the Stevens girl" could sing. Itwas to be doubted, however, if her voice amounted to much. Another pointin her favor lay in the fact that Professor Harmon was a close friend ofher father. He would surely give her the preference. 

But while she dreamed of triumphantly holding the center of the stagebefore a spellbound audience, her rival to be, Constance Stevens, wasseriously debating within herself regarding the wisdom of even enteringthe contest. Of a distinctly retiring nature, Constance was not eager toenter the lists. On the Friday afternoon before the try-out she wasstill undecided, and when the afternoon session of school was over, andshe and the five girls with whom she spent most of her leisure hourswere walking down the street, headed for Sargent's and its never-failingsupply of sweets, she was curiously silent amid the gay chatter of herfriends. 

"I suppose you girls know that our dear Mignon has designs on thePrincess, " announced Jerry Macy, with the elaborate carelessness of onewho gives forth important news as the commonest every-day matter. 

"Mignon!" exclaimed Marjorie Dean in amazement. "I never even knew shecould sing. "

"She thinks she can, " shrugged Muriel Harding. "Goodness knows she oughtto. She has studied for ages. I'm surprised to hear that she is going toenter the try-out, considering it's Laurie's operetta. You know just howmuch he likes her. She knows, too. "

"Who told you, Jerry?" quizzed Susan Atwell. "The way you gather newsis positively marvelous. Was it big brother Hal?"

"No, he doesn't know it. If I told him, he'd tell Laurie and Lauriewould promptly have a spasm. One of the girls in the senior classmentioned it to me. "

"Mignon really sings well, " put in Irma. "Don't you remember the timeshe sang at Muriel's party, two years ago? She has been studying eversince. She must have improved a good deal since then. "

"Oh, I've heard her sing more than once, " said Jerry Macy, "but I don'tlike her voice. It's--well, it isn't sweet and sympathetic. "

"Neither is she, " put in Susan with her customary giggle. 

"Wait until Connie sings at the try-out. Then someone can gently leadMignon to a back seat, " predicted Jerry. "It would give me a good dealof pleasure to be that 'someone. '"

"I don't think I shall enter the try-out, " remarked Constance, flushing. 

"Why not?" was the questioning chorus. 

"Oh, I don't know, only I just don't care to. If I do, someone might saythat I went into it because----" She hesitated, and the flush on hercheeks deepened. 

"Because you expected Laurie to choose you, you mean, " finished Jerry. 

"Yes; that is what I meant, " admitted Constance. "Of course, I knowthere are other girls who are better singers than I, and that I couldn'tpossibly be chosen. Still, I'd rather not go into it at all, unless Icould just be in the chorus. "

"You are a goose; a nice, dear goose, but a goose, just the same, " wasJerry's plain sentiment. 

"Connie Stevens, if you don't try for that part, I'll never speak to youagain, " threatened Muriel. 

"I'll disown you, " added Susan in mock menace. 

"Connie, " Marjorie's voice vibrated with sudden energy, "I think you_ought_ to try for the Princess. I am almost sure no other girl inSanford High can sing so beautifully. Then there is Laurie. He hasalways been nice to you. It would hurt his feelings dreadfully if youdidn't try for a part in his operetta. Besides, I know it soundshateful, but I can't help saying that I'd be glad to see you take thePrincess away from Mignon. That is, if she really stands a good chanceof winning it. I suppose that is what Miss Archer would call 'an ignoblesentiment, ' but I mean it, just the same. " Marjorie glanced halfdefiantly around the bright-eyed circle. They were now in Sargent's, seated about their favorite table. 

"Hurrah for you, Marjorie!" cried Jerry, flourishing her hand as thoughit were a pennant of triumph. "That's what I say, too. You are really ahuman, everyday person, after all. I used to think you were almost tooforgiving toward certain persons, but now I can see that you aren't sucha model forgiver, after all. "

"That is rather a doubtful compliment, isn't it?" laughed Marjorie. 

"Frankness is the soul of virtue, " jeered Muriel. 

"Oh, now, you know what I mean, " protested Jerry, looking somewhatsheepish. "You girls do like to tease me. All right, I'll do theforgiving act and order the refreshments. I'll pay for them, too. I've awhole dollar. I am supposed to buy some stationery with it, but I'lljust let my correspondence languish and treat instead. Name your eat andyou can have it. Fifteen cents apiece is your limit. I need the otherten to buy stamps. "

"What is the use in buying stamps if you don't intend to correspond?"put in Irma mischievously. 

"I might need them some day, " was Jerry's calm retort. "Besides, if Idon't spend the ten cents I may lose it. Now the bureau of informationis closed. Order your fifteen cents' worth!"

After changing their minds several times in rapid succession to theinfinite disgust of the waitress, the sextette finally made unanimousdecision for a new concoction in the way of a fruit lemonade, known asSargent Nectar. 

"Now, " announced Jerry, as the long-suffering waitress deposited thetall glasses on the table and retired to the back of the room to grumbleuncomplimentary comments to a fellow-worker on the ways of high schoolgirls who didn't know their own minds, "let us all drink a toast to MissConnie Stevens, the celebrated star of 'The Rebellious Princess. ' Butremember, we can't drink it until the star says she will shine. 

 "'Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Shall we see you from afar? On the Sanford stage so shy, For the fame of Sanford High. '

"Who says I'm not a poet?"

"Connie, you can't resist that poetic appeal, " giggled Susan. 

Constance's blue eyes shone misty affection upon the circle of fresh, young faces, alight with the honest desire for her success. Her voicetrembled a little as she said: "I'll take it all back, girls. Now that Iknow just how you feel about the try-out, _I'd_ be an ungrateful girl tosay I wouldn't do my best. I'll sing to-morrow, but if I'm not chosen, please don't be disappointed. "

"To Connie, our Princess! Long may she warble!" Jerry raised her glassof lemonade. "Drink her down!"

CHAPTER XXIV

THE MOMENT OF TRIUMPH

It was a buzzing and excited assemblage of young men and women thatgathered in the gymnasium of Weston High School on Saturday morning forthe much-discussed try-out. As it had been strictly enjoined upon thestudents of both high schools that unless they desired to take part inthe coming operetta their presence was not requested, nor would it bepermitted, on the momentous occasion, the great room was onlycomfortably filled. Weston High School was represented by not more thantwenty-five or thirty ambitious aspirants for fame, but at least ahundred girls from Sanford High cherished hopes of gaining admission tothe magic cast. After much discussion, Marjorie and her four friends haddecided to make a bold attempt at chorus celebrity, purely for the sakeof seeing what happened. Constance had earnestly urged them to do so, declaring that she could not sing unless they were present to encourageher. 

"I wonder if all this crowd expects to be chosen, " was Jerry Macy'sblunt comment, as the sextette of girls stood grouped at one side of theroom, waiting for the affair to begin. "I hope I'm not asked to singalone. Not so much for my own sake. I hate to make other people feelsad. I practised 'America' and 'Marching through Georgia' last night, just to see what I could do. One of our maids came rushing into theliving room because she said she wondered who was making all that noise. Then Hal poked his head in the door and asked if I was hurt. So I quit. It was time. "

Jerry's painful experience as a soloist provoked a burst of laughterfrom her friends. It had hardly died away when Professor Harmon, astout, little man, with a shock of bushy hair and an expression of beingalways on the alert, bustled in. With him came Lawrence Armitage and atall, dark-haired young man, a stranger to those present. The professortrotted to the piano, opened it, held a hurried conference with hiscompanions, then, stepping forward, ran a searching eye over theassembled boys and girls. The more ambitious contestants of both sexescarried music rolls containing the selections they intended to offer, but the majority of that carefree congregation aspired to nothing higherthan the chorus, looking upon the whole affair as a grand lark. 

Professor Harmon proceeded to make a short speech, briefly outlining theplot of the opera and stating the nature of the try-out. "We shall askthose who wish to try for principals to step to that side of the room, "he said, indicating the left. "I wish to hear them sing, first. Afterward, I shall select the chorus, and hear them sing together. "

"That lets me out, " was Jerry's relieved, inelegant comment toSusan Atwell, as she moved to the right. Susan stifled an irrepressiblechuckle and sobered her face for what was to come. 

Over among the groups of possible principals Constance became obsessedwith sudden shyness. The majority of the girls were of the upperclasses, and she felt lonely and ill at ease. She noted that she andMignon La Salle were the only representatives of the sophomore class. Mignon, looking radiant self-possession in a smart old-rose suit and hatto match, carried herself with the air of one whose success was alreadyassured. Her black eyes were snapping with excitement as they dartedfrom the professor to the two young men standing beside the piano. Shefingered her gray morocco music roll nervously, her thin fingers neverstill. 

Stepping over to the piano the professor seated himself. "That younglady on the right, please come to the piano. " The girl indicated, adignified senior, obeyed the summons, coolly handed the professor hermusic, stationed herself at his side and awaited trial with the air of aSpartan. After a short prelude she began to sing a popular air that wasat that time going the round of Sanford. She sang one verse, then theprofessor dropped his hands from the keys, inquired her name, made amemorandum on a pad, and, dismissing her, signaled another girl to takeher place. 

The try-out proceeded with a business-like snap that bade fair to end itwith speedy commission. So far nothing startling in the way of voiceshad been discovered. Constance listened to the various girl soloists andwondered if she could do as well as they. Mignon leaned far forward withbreathless interest. She was firmly convinced that her singing wouldcreate a sensation. When at last her turn came, she walked boldlyforward. Professor Harmon smiled approval and encouragement. He desiredparticularly to see her carry off the honor of the leading rôle. Shedarted a lightning glance at Lawrence Armitage as she approached thepiano, but in his impassive features she could read neither approval norindifference. 

She had chosen a French song, full of difficult runs and trills, and itmay be set down here to her credit that she sang it well. As her clear, but somewhat unsympathetic voice rang out, a faint murmur ofapprobation swept the listeners. Her long training now stood her in goodstead. Professor Harmon allowed her to go on with her song, instead ofhalting her in the middle of it, as he had in the case of the previousaspirants. When she had finished singing, she was greeted with a roundof genuine applause, the first accorded to a singer since the beginningof the try-out. The brilliancy of her performance could not be denied, even by those who had reason to dislike her. 

"Excellent, Miss La Salle, " was Professor Harmon's tribute, as he handedher her music. Flushing with pride of achievement, the French girlreturned to her place among the others, tingling with the sweetness ofher success. 

There now remained not more than half a dozen untried soloists. Constance Stevens was among that number. By this time Marjorie wasbecoming a trifle anxious. There was just a chance that Connie might beoverlooked. Naturally retiring, she would be quite likely to make nosign, were Professor Harmon to pass her by, under the impression thatshe had already sung. But Marjorie's fears were needless. Constance hada staunch friend at court. During the try-out Lawrence Armitage's blueeyes had been frequently directed toward the quiet, fair-haired girl ofhis choice. Locked in his boyish heart was a secret knowledge that hehad composed the operetta chiefly because he had wished Constance tohave the opportunity of singing the part of the Princess. He hadconsented to the try-out merely to please Professor Harmon. He wasconvinced that no other girl could compare with Constance in the matterof voice. He was glad that she was to sing last, and a smile of proudexpectation played about his mouth as Professor Harmon abruptly cut offan enterprising senior, the last contestant before Constance, in themidst of a high note. 

The smile quickly faded to an expression of dismay as he saw theprofessor rise from the piano, his eyes on his memorandum pad. At thesame instant a faint ripple of consternation was heard from a group ofgirls of which Marjorie formed the center. The latter took a hurriedstep forward. Marjorie was determined that Connie must not be cheated ofher chance. She had caught a glimpse of Mignon, her black eyes blazingwith insolent triumph and positive joy at the possibility of thisunexpected elimination of the girl she hated. 

But Marjorie's intended protest in behalf of her friend was neveruttered. Laurie Armitage had come to the rescue. She saw him haltProfessor Harmon, as he was about to address the company. She saw thelittle man's eyebrows elevate themselves in a glance toward Constance, following Laurie's low, energetic communication. Then she felt herselftrembling with relief as Professor Harmon announced apologetically, "Iunderstand that I almost made the mistake of overlooking one ofSanford's promising young singers. Will Miss Stevens please comeforward?"

Pink with the embarrassment of the professor's words, Constance made nomove to comply with the request. Good-natured Ellen Seymour, who was oneof the contestants, pushed her gently forward. Ellen's light touch awokeConstance to motion. She walked mechanically toward the piano, as thoughpropelled against her will by an unseen force. The humiliation of beingeven accidentally passed by looked forth from her sensitive features. Quick to note it, Lawrence Armitage advanced toward her, took hertightly rolled music from her hand, and, conducting her to the piano, introduced her to Professor Harmon, apparently unmindful of the manypairs of eyes intently watching the little scene. 

"Now we are ready. " The professor nodded to Constance, who stood withher small hands loosely clasped, her grave eyes fastened upon him. Hehalf smiled, as his experienced fingers began the first soft notes ofMendelssohn's Spring Song. Long ago her foster father had written a setof exquisitely tender words that had exactly seemed to fit thoseunforgettable strains, so familiar to every true lover of music. Constance had sung them so many times that she knew them by heart. Nowshe fixed her eyes on the east wall of the gymnasium, and, leaving theworld behind her, rendered the beautiful selection as though she were inher own home, with only her dear ones to listen to the flood ofravishing melody that issued from her white throat. 

Marjorie Dean felt a swift rush of tears flood her brown eyes as shelistened to her friend. She recalled the time when she had halted at thedoor of the little gray house, in wonder at that glorious voice. Conquering her emotion, she began to take stock of the effect of thesong upon those assembled. She saw the proud flash of gladness thatleaped to Laurie's fine face. His faith in Connie's powers was beingamply fulfilled. She read the profound surprise and admiration ofProfessor Harmon, as he accompanied the singing girl. She glimpsedenthusiastic admiration in the countenances of the spell-bound students, many of whom had never before heard Constance sing. Then her gazecentered upon Mignon. Anger, surprise and chagrin swept the elfish faceof the French girl. She read vocalization more flawless than her own, aswell as greater sweetness and an intense sympathy, which she lacked, inthe full, sweet, rounded tones that issued from her rival's lips. Thiswas the voice of a great artist. 

Professor Harmon turned from the piano as the last golden note died awayand held out his hand. "Allow me to congratulate you, Miss Stevens. You----" His voice was drowned in tumult of noisy and ferventapprobation on the part of the delighted audience. Boys and girls forgotthe dignity of the occasion, and the next instant the surprisedConstance found herself surrounded by as admiring a throng as ever didhonor to a triumphant basket-ball or football star. If signs were truepresagers of victory, if the united acclamation of the majority counted, then Constance Stevens had, indeed, come into her own. 

CHAPTER XXV

AN UNHAPPY PRINCESS

It took Professor Harmon several minutes to reduce the noisy enthusiaststo the decorous state of order in which they had entered the gymnasium. Far from being elated over her triumph, Constance Stevens received theovation with the shyness of a child brought before an audience againstits will to speak its first piece. She heaved an audible sigh of reliefwhen at last she was left to herself and retired behind Marjorie and herfriends with a flushed, embarrassed face. 

The boys' try-out was shortened considerably by the fact that there werefewer singers to be heard. When it was over it was announced that HalMacy had carried off the rôle of the poor, neglected son, which was inreality the male lead. The Crane was selected for the king, whilefreckle-faced Daniel Seabrooke was chosen for the jester, greatly to hisdelight and surprise. There was an emphatic round of applause whenProfessor Harmon announced that Constance Stevens had been selected tosing the Princess. Ellen Seymour captured the rôle of the queen, and toMignon La Salle was allotted the part of the disagreeable step-sister. It was second in importance to that of the Princess, but the Frenchgirl's face was a study as she received the announcement. She tried tosmile, but the baffled anger and keen disappointment which was hersblazed forth from her elfish eyes. The minor parts were soon given out, and then came the trial of the chorus. 

The hope of Marjorie and her four friends that they might be chosen wasfulfilled. A number of the girls who had sung solos were also selected, and, with one or two disgruntled exceptions, resigned themselves to thelesser glory, gratefully accepting what was offered them. It wasevident, however, that pretty faces had much to do with the Professor'schoice of the chorus, and when he had gathered the elect together andheard them sing "The Star Spangled Banner" as a test, he expressedhimself as satisfied, and appointed a rehearsal for the followingTuesday afternoon at four o'clock. 

With the exception of Constance, it was a most jubilant sextette thatset out for Sargent's, at Marjorie's invitation, after the try-out wasover. She was still somewhat dazed over her success. Although she smiledas the five girls paid her affectionate tribute, she had little to say. 

"Girls, did you see Mignon's face when Connie was singing?" began MurielHarding, as soon as they were out of earshot of any possibleparticipants in the try-out. 

"Did we see it? Well, I guess so. " Jerry made prompt answer. "At least, I did. While Connie was singing I was dividing my seeing power betweenher and the fair but frowning Mignon. Maybe she wasn't mad! She tried topretend she wasn't listening, but she never missed a note. She had senseenough to know good singing when she heard it. "

"I was watching her, too, " nodded Muriel Harding. "Her eyes positivelyglittered when Professor Harmon almost missed hearing Connie sing. Iknew she was hoping he would. Then Laurie Armitage came to the rescue. "

"I was going to say something, " was Marjorie's quiet comment. "I hadmade up my mind that Connie shouldn't be overlooked. I was so glad whenLaurie spoke to the professor. "

"I thought you were, " declared Jerry. "I was going to say something, ifno one else did. "

"I don't believe any one of us could have stood there and seen Conniemiss her turn without making a fuss, " said gentle Irma Linton. "I am soglad it all came out nicely. Laurie Armitage is a splendid boy. "

"So is the Crane, " put in Jerry slyly. 

"Of course he is, " agreed Irma, placidly ignoring Jerry's attempt totease. "So is your brother Hal. There are lots of nice boys in WestonHigh. "

Jerry merely grinned cheerfully at this retort and returned to thesubject of the coming opera. "Is Laurie going to help you with yoursongs?" she asked, addressing Constance. 

"Yes, " replied Constance simply. "He said he would. I can't quitebelieve yet that I am to sing the Princess. I may be able to manage thesongs, but I can't act. I imagine Mignon would make a better actressthan I. "

"She ought to, " jeered Muriel Harding, who could never resist a thrustat the French girl. "She never does anything else. I don't believe she'dknow her real self if she came face to face with it in broad daylight. "

"Oh, forget Mignon. Who was that tall, dark man with Laurie andProfessor Harmon?" interposed Susan Atwell. "You ought to know, Connie. I saw Laurie introduce you to him. "

"His name is Atwell, " answered Constance. "He is an actor, I believe. Idon't know why he happened to be at the try-out to-day. PerhapsProfessor Harmon invited him. "

"I'll find out all about him and tell you, " volunteered Jerry. "Hal mayknow. If he doesn't, some one else will. "

"For further information, ask brother Hal, " giggled Susan. 

It was not until Marjorie and Constance had said good-bye to the othersand were strolling home in the spring sunshine that the latter asked, "Where was Mary to-day?"

"I don't know. " Marjorie spoke soberly. "She left the house before I didthis morning. She said last night that she wasn't interested in thetry-out. I thought perhaps she might like to be in the chorus, but shedoesn't appear to care about it. She has a sweet, soprano voice and cansing well. "

"I am sorry, " was Constance's brief answer. 

"So am I. " Marjorie did not continue the painful subject. They hadtalked it over so many times, there was nothing left to be said. "I amglad you were chosen for the Princess, " she said after a little silence, during which the two girls were busy with their own thoughts. 

"I am going to try to sing well, if only to please you and Laurie, " wasConstance's earnest avowal. 

"I'm glad Mignon didn't get the part. It won't be very pleasant for youto have to sing with her. I wouldn't say this to anyone else, but if Iwere you I would keep a watchful eye on her, Connie. "

"If she tries to be disagreeable, I shall simply pay no attention toher. "

"That will be best, " nodded Marjorie. Nevertheless, she reflected thatas a member of the chorus she would have opportunity to observe theFrench girl and mentally decided to keep an eye on her. 

"Has Mary come in, Delia?" was Marjorie's quick question, as the maidanswered her ring. 

"Here I am, " called Mary from the living room. She had heard Marjorie'squestion. Now she appeared in the doorway of the living room, viewingher former chum with sombre gravity. "Who is going to sing thePrincess?" she asked abruptly. 

"Connie was chosen. She sang beautifully. "

"I'm glad Mignon didn't get the part, " muttered Mary. Wheeling about, she walked into the living room, and, taking up a book she had turnedface downward on the table, became, to all appearances, absorbed in itspages. 

For a moment Marjorie stood watching her through the half-drawnportieres. She would have liked to continue the conversation, but prideforbade her to do so. Mary's mood presaged rebuff. Later, at luncheon, she unbent sufficiently to question Marjorie further regarding thetry-out. Although she did not say so, she was sorry that Mignon hadbeen given a principal's part in the operetta. Privately, she wishedshe had made an attempt to get into the chorus. She, too, was of theopinion that the French girl would bear watching. Failure to carry offthe highest honors would act as a spur to Mignon's unscrupulous nature, and sooner or later some one would pay for her defeat. 

Mary was quite correct in her conjecture that Mignon would not allowmatters to rest as they were. From the moment that Constance had beenannounced as the Princess she had made a vow that by either fair orunfair means she would supplant "that white-faced cat of a Stevensgirl, " who had been awarded the honor that should have been hers. Thefirst step consisted in holding a private session with Professor Harmonafter the others had gone, to ascertain if by any chance he might berelied upon to help her. She found him engaged in conversation with thedark young man. He eyed her with interest, bowed affably when presentedto her by the professor, and expressed somewhat profuse pleasure atmeeting her. In the presence of a stranger, Mignon dared not askProfessor Harmon openly to reconsider his recent decision in her favor. Three minutes' conversation with him showed her that, had she made therequest, it would have availed her nothing. The brisk little man's mindwas made up. He congratulated her on capturing second honors with afinality that could not be assailed. Then a brilliant idea entered herwily brain. 

"Professor Harmon, " she began, with a pretty show of girlish confusion, quite foreign to her usual bold method of reaching out for whatever shecoveted, "I would like to ask you if I might understudy the Princess. Ofcourse, I know that I can't sing as Miss Stevens sings, and I wouldn'tfor the world wish anything to happen to prevent her from singing on thegreat night, but I am so fond of music that it would be a pleasure tounderstudy the rôle. I shouldn't like anyone to know that I was doingso, though. It is just a fancy on my part. "

"Certainly you may, Miss La Salle, " was the professor's hearty response. "Your idea is excellent. It is a mistake, even in an amateur production, not to provide an understudy for an important rôle, such as Miss Stevenswill sing. I must provide an understudy for Mr. Macy, and others of thecast, also. But you are too modest in your request that no one else mustknow. I am sure Mr. Armitage will be pleased with your suggestion. "

"Oh, please don't tell him!" exclaimed Mignon. A shade of alarm crossedher dark face, which was not lost on the professor's companion, RonaldAtwell. A mere acquaintance of Professor Harmon's, he had lately arrivedin Sanford, at the close of a season as leading man in a popular musicalcomedy, to visit a cousin. Brought up in that hard school of experience, the stage, he was an adept at reading signs, and he was by no meansdeceived as to the true character of the girl who stood before him. Farfrom being displeased with his deductions, he became mildly interestedin her and mentally characterized her as being worth cultivating. He hadwatched her during the try-out, and he had glimpsed her true self inthe varying expressions that animated her dark face. He had attended thetry-out on the polite invitation of Professor Harmon, and at thelatter's earnest solicitation had agreed to take charge of the stagedirection of the operetta. The professor had congratulated himself onobtaining such valuable assistance, while the actor looked upon theaffair as a pastime which would serve to lighten his stay with hisrather dull cousin. He had come to Sanford for a period of relaxationbefore going to New York to begin rehearsals with a summer show, and theprospect of directing the operetta promised to be amusing. 

"Very well, I will say nothing, " promised the professor amiably. He hadcome to the try-out, hoping to see the daughter of his friend capturethe rôle of the Princess, but the enthusiasm of the artist had driventhat hope from his mind when he had heard Constance sing. Now he dweltonly on the success of the operetta, and was distinctly relieved to findthat Mignon was in an amiable frame of mind over the unexpected changein his plans. Knowing her tempestuous disposition, he decided that itwould be policy to humor her whim. 

"Thank you so much, " beamed Mignon. "I must go now. Good-bye. "

"I find I must leave you, also, " said Ronald Atwell, glancing at hiswatch, "or I shall be late for luncheon. "

Mignon had already walked toward the east door of the gymnasium. With ahurried "Good-bye, Professor. I will be here for rehearsal on Tuesday, "the dark, young man strode after Mignon and overtook her in thecorridor. 

"I wonder if our ways lie in the same direction, " he said pleasantly. "Iam the guest of Mr. And Mrs. Horton. Mr. Horton is a cousin of mine. "

"I pass their house on my way home, " was the prompt reply. 

Elated at receiving the marked attention of this distinguished stranger, Mignon exerted herself to the utmost to be agreeable during their walk. From the few words she had heard pass between the professor and Mr. Atwell as she approached them, she had gathered the information that thelatter was to manage the stage and coach the actors in the operetta. Shedetermined that, if it were possible, she would enlist his services inher behalf. She had counted on Professor Harmon, and he had failed her. In this good-looking, affable young man she foresaw a valuable ally. Thepresentation of "The Rebellious Princess" was still four weeks distant. A great many things might happen in that time. 

Her companion's suave comment, "I think Professor Harmon made a mistakein assigning the Princess to the young woman who sang last, " utteredwith just the exact shade of regret, caused Mignon to thrill with newhope. Mr. Atwell, at least, was of the same mind as herself. Shebrightened visibly when he went on to say that as stage manager he wouldtry to give her every advantage that lay in his power. "I am certainthat you have within you the possibilities which go to make a greatactress, Miss La Salle, " was his parting remark to her, and theseflattering words, which were, in reality, merely idle on the part of theactor, she accepted as gospel truth. It was always very easy for her toaccept that which she wished to believe, for self-analysis was not oneof her strong points. 

When the cast and chorus for the operetta met in the gymnasium thefollowing Tuesday afternoon, it did not take the lynx-eyed femininecontingent long to discover that Mignon La Salle had a friend at court. Laurie Armitage, also, soon became aware of the fact. He was secretlydispleased that Mignon had been chosen to sing in his operetta, andalmost on first acquaintance he had formed a dislike for Ronald Atwell. Behind his polished manners he read insincerity, and he was sorry thatProfessor Harmon had asked this newcomer to assist in managing theproduction. But, manlike, he kept his prejudice to himself, admittingreluctantly that Atwell seemed to know what he was about. 

In the frequent rehearsals that followed, however, many irritatingincidents occurred to try his boyish soul. Most of all he disapproved ofthe actor manager's brusque manner toward Constance Stevens. He foundfault continually with her in the matter of the speaking of her lines, and developed a habit of rehearsing her over and over again in a singlescene until she was ready to cry of sheer humiliation at her own failureto please him. More than once Laurie made private protest to ProfessorHarmon, but the latter invariably reminded him that despite MissStevens' beautiful voice, she was far from grasping the principles ofacting, and that Mr. Atwell was a striking example of a conscientiousdirector. 

Lawrence Armitage was not the only one whose resentment against the tooconscientious stage manager had been aroused. His unfair attitude towardConstance was the subject of many indignant discussions on the part ofthe girls who comprised her coterie of intimate friends. 

"It's a shame, " burst forth Jerry Macy in an undertone to Marjorie, asthey stood together at one side of the gymnasium and watched theimpatient manner in which the actor ordered their idol about. "Iwouldn't stand it, if I were Connie. I guess you know who is to blamefor it, don't you?"

Marjorie nodded. A faint touch of scorn curved her red lips. Mignon'sgrowing friendship with Ronald Atwell was the talk of the cast. Hefrequently accompanied her home from school, invited her to Sargent's, and it was rumored that he was often a guest at dinner or luncheon ather home. Proud of the fact that his daughter was to sing an importantrôle in "young Armitage's opera, " Mr. La Salle had treated hisdaughter's new acquaintance with considerable deference and allowedMignon to do as she pleased in the matter of entertaining him. 

"Laurie told Hal that he was sorry Professor Harmon had asked that oldcrank to help. Laurie didn't say 'old crank, ' but I say it, and I meanit, " continued Jerry vindictively. "Don't breathe it to anyone, though. It was a brotherly confidence and Hal would rave if he knew I repeatedit. "

"Jerry, " whispered Marjorie. Her brief scorn had faded into a faintfrown of anxiety. "I don't think Mr. Atwell is really the best sort ofperson for Mignon to go around with. He is ever so much older than sheand, somehow, he doesn't seem sincere. Someone told Muriel that he toldMignon she would make a wonderful actress. Mignon was boasting of it. Suppose she were to get an idea of going on the stage. She is soheadstrong she might run away from home and do that very thing if shehappened to feel like it. I don't like her, but I can't help being justa little bit sorry for her. You know, she hasn't any mother to help herand love her and advise her. Her father is so busy making money, hedoesn't pay much attention to her. Fathers are splendid, but mothers aresimply splendiferous. I don't know what I'd do without my Captain. "Marjorie sighed in sweet sympathy for all the motherless girls in theuniverse. 

"Mothers are a grand institution, " agreed Jerry, looking a triflesolemn. "I think mine is just about right. I never thought of Mignon inthat way before. Now, I suppose I'll have to be sorry for her, too. Shedoesn't look as though she needed much sympathy just now. She's sopleased with the way Connie is being ordered about that she can't seestraight. There, he's through with the poor child at last. Come on. It'stime for the chorus to perform. Try to imagine that this good old gym isthe king's palace and that our mutual friend the Crane is a kingly king. He looks more like a clothes-pole!"

Marjorie was forced to laugh at Jerry's uncomplimentary comparison. They had no further opportunity for conversation in the busy hour thatfollowed. Professor Harmon drilled them rigidly, his short hairpositively standing erect with energy, and they were quite ready togather their little band together and hurry off to Sargent's for restand ice cream when the rehearsal was at last over. 

"See here, Connie, why don't you tell that Atwell man to mind his ownbusiness, " sputtered Jerry as the six girls walked down the street inthe direction of their favorite haunt. 

"He _is_ minding his business, " returned Constance ruefully. Her smallface was very pale and her blue eyes were strained and unhappy. "It ismy fault. But he makes me nervous, and then I can't act. When I am athome I can say my lines just as I ought, but the minute he begins totell me what to do, everything goes wrong. Then he finds fault andalmost makes me cry. I wish I hadn't tried for a part. If it weren't solate I'd resign from the cast. "

"And let Mignon sing the Princess!" came from Muriel in deep disgust. 

"Don't you do it, " advised Susan. "That's precisely what she'd like youto do. "

"It's a plot between Mignon and Mr. Snapwell--I mean Atwell, " declaredJerry. "She's crazy to be the Princess and he is trying to help heralong. A blind man could see that. "

"I think so, too, " said Irma Linton slowly. "You must try not to mindhim, Connie, then you won't be nervous. "

"Why don't you ask Laurie to interfere?" proposed Jerry. "He lookedcrosser than I look when I'm mad when that Atwell man was worrying youabout your lines this afternoon. I'll ask him myself, if you say so. "

"No. " Constance shook her head. "I wouldn't for the world complain toLaurie. He has enough to think of now, without bothering his head overmy troubles. I suppose I am too easily hurt. I must learn not to mindsuch things, if ever I expect to become a real artist. "

"That's the way you ought to feel, Connie, " put in Marjorie's softvoice. She had been thinking seriously, while the others talked, as towhat she might say to cheer up her disconsolate schoolmate. "You werechosen to sing the part of the Princess, and I am sure no one else cansing it half so well. Try to think that, all the time you arerehearsing. Remember, Laurie believes in you, and so do we. When thegreat night comes you won't have to listen to that horrid Mr. Atwell'snagging, or say your lines over and over again. You will truly be thePrincess, and that will make you forget everything else. If you believein yourself, nothing can make you fail. For your own sake, don't thinkfor a minute of giving up the part. "

CHAPTER XXVI

MAKING RESTITUTION

Greatly to Mr. Ronald Atwell's chagrin, Constance Stevens began suddenlyto show a marked improvement in her work that did not in the leastcoincide with his plans. Influenced by Mignon's tale of her wrongs, laidprincipally at Constance's door, albeit Marjorie, too, came in for hershare of blame, he had taken a dislike to the gentle girl and lost noopportunity to humiliate her. Privately, he regarded the entire cast, Mignon included, as a set of silly children, and his only regard forMignon lay in a wholesome respect for her father's money. At heart hewas not a scoundrel, he was merely vain and selfish, and imbued with aprofound sense of his own importance. It had pleased his fancy to assumethe charge of the staging of the operetta, but now he was growing rathertired of it and wished that it were over. 

Long before this he and Mignon had come to a definite understandingregarding the operetta. Mignon had informed him boldly that she wishedto sing the part of the Princess, and he had assured her that he wouldarrange matters to her satisfaction. It, therefore, became incumbentupon him to keep his word. He had begun his persistent annoying ofConstance, convinced that, unable to endure it, she would resign andleave the field of honor free to the French girl. But Constance didnothing of the sort. She stood her ground, half-heartedly at first, butafterward, with Marjorie's words ringing in her ears, she exhibited asteadiness of purpose that he could not shake. 

At the dress rehearsal, the last before the public performance, she wasa brilliant success, compelling even his reluctant admiration. It wasnow too late even to consider the possibility of Mignon replacing her, and he informed the latter rather sheepishly of this, as he rode homewith her in her electric runabout. 

For the first and last time he had the pleasure of seeing Mignon in aroyal rage, and when they reached her home, he declined her sullen offerto send him home in her automobile, and made his escape with due speed. Deciding he had had enough of amateurs and amateur operettas, he maileda note to Professor Harmon excusing himself from further service on theplea of a telegram summoning him to New York. Whether the telegram werea myth, history does not record. Sufficient to say that he actually wentto New York the following afternoon. And thus "The Rebellious Princess"lost a stage manager and Mignon the hitherto chief factor in her plans. She was also the recipient of an apologetic note from the actor, whichcaused her to clench her hands in rage, then shrug her thin shoulderswith a gesture that did not spell defeat. Somehow, in some way, shewould accomplish her purpose. Even at the eleventh hour she would notacknowledge herself beaten. Yet as the day wore on toward evening shecould think of nothing to do that would bring her her unreasonabledesire. 

The operetta was to be sung in the Sanford Theatre, where the dressrehearsal had been held. Furious almost to tears at her inability tobring about the impossible, Mignon at last ordered her runabout and madesulky preparations to start for the theatre. The possession of anautomobile gave her the advantage of being able to don her first actcostume at home, but her really attractive appearance in the fancifulgown of the heartless step-sister afforded her no pleasure. She hookedit up pettishly, made a face at herself in the mirror of her dressingtable, and, drawing her evening cloak about her, flounced downstairs toher runabout, completely out of humor with the world in general. 

She drove along recklessly, as was her custom, and when half way to thetheatre narrowly missed running down a small, sturdy figure that wasmarching across the street. 

"Naughty old wagon, " screamed a familiar voice after her. 

At sound of that piping voice, Mignon stopped her car and peered out. Trotting along the sidewalk a little to her rear was a small boy with adiminutive violin case tucked under his arm. Little Charlie Stevens hadcome forth once more to see the world. In a flash wicked inspirationcame to Mignon. The Stevens child was running away again, but this timehe had chosen an evening exactly to her liking. Slipping out of her carshe ran toward the boy. "Why, good evening, little boy, " she calledpleasantly. "Where are _you_ going?"

"I know you. You're a naughty girl!" observed Charlie with more truththan courtesy. He braced himself defiantly and regarded Mignon withpatent disapproval. 

"I am so sorry you think so. " Mignon affected a sadness which she wasfar from feeling at this unvarnished statement. "I was going to take youfor a ride and buy you some ice cream. "

Charlie considered this astonishing offer in silence. He staredfrowningly at Mignon. "Is it chok'lit ice cream?" he asked, eyeing herin open disbelief. 

"Of course it is. As much as you can eat. "

"All right. I want some. But you're a naughty girl, just the same. Marysaid so. "

Mignon shrugged indifferently. She was not greatly concerned at eitherhis or Mary's opinion of her. "Come on, if you want a ride, " she urged. 

Charlie obeyed with some show of reluctance. He was not sure that eventhe prospect of ice cream warranted his surrender. Mignon caught him upand swung him into the runabout. Her wrist watch pointed to fifteenminutes past seven. She had no time to lose. She drove rapidly throughthe town to a small confectioner's store at the other end. Charlie keptup a lively chatter as they rolled along. Stopping before it she liftedthe boy from the automobile, and, taking his hand, hurried him into thebrightly lighted store. Seating him at a table, she ordered two platesof chocolate ice cream and sat down opposite the boy, her black eyesglittering as she watched him eat. From time to time she glanced at herwatch. When the child had finished his plate of cream, she pushed herown toward him. "Eat it, " she commanded. 

Charlie responded nobly to the command. When she saw the last spoonfulvanish, she smiled elfishly. It was eight o'clock. The operetta began athalf past eight. Allowing herself fifteen minutes to reach the theatreand carry out the last step in her plan, she would arrive there atfifteen minutes past eight. 

The wandering musician made strenuous objection, however, to leaving theice cream parlor. "I could eat more chok'lit cream, " he informed her. 

"You are a greedy boy, " she said, her former friendliness vanishing intoangry impatience. "Come with me this minute. "

"You're a cross old elefunt, " was Charlie's crushing but inappropriateretort. 

Mignon was in no mood for an exchange of pleasantries. Seizing Charlieby the arm she hustled him out of the shop into her runabout, and wasoff like the wind. When half way between the shop and the theatre, shehalted her car. Lifting the boy out she set him on the sidewalk beforehe had time to protest. "Now go where you please. I'll tell Connie tocome and find you, " was her malicious farewell. Stepping into therunabout she drove away, leaving Charlie Stevens to take care of himselfas best he might. 

Although Mignon was unaware of the fact, there had been an amazedwitness to the final scene in her little drama. A fair-haired girl hadcome up just in time to hear her heartless speech and see her driveaway, leaving a small, perplexed youngster on the sidewalk. That girlwas Mary Raymond. She had steadily refused Marjorie's earnest plea thatshe attend the much-talked-of performance of "The Rebellious Princess, "and directly after dinner that evening, on the plea of mailing a letter, had slipped from the house on one of her melancholy, soul-searchingwalks which she had become so fond of taking. Convinced that she was anutter failure, imbued with a daily growing sense of her own unfitness tobe the friend of a girl like Marjorie Dean, Mary was plunged into thedepths of humiliation and unhappiness. This alone had been the cause ofthe marked change in her that Marjorie had innocently attributed toMignon's defection. In her sad little soul there was now no bitternessagainst Constance Stevens. Quite by chance she had one day not long pastencountered Jerry Macy in Sargent's, alone. Touched by her woe-begoneair, Jerry had taken pains to draw her out. With her usual shrewdnessthe stout girl had discovered the real cause of Mary's depression, andkindly advised her to have a heart-to-heart talk with Marjorie. Jerryhad also made it a point to inform Mary, so far as she knew the details, of the trouble over the butterfly pins during Marjorie's freshman year, and of Mignon's cruel treatment of Constance. Distinctly to Jerry'scredit, she told no one afterward of that chance meeting, yet shesecretly hoped that what she had said would have its effect upon Mary. 

Overwhelmed with shame, Mary had left the talkative, stout girl anddragged herself home, in an agony of humiliation that can be betterimagined than described. She felt that she could never forgive herselffor the ignoble thoughts she had harbored against innocent ConstanceStevens, and she was still more certain that she could never ask eitherMarjorie or Constance to forgive _her_. Again and again she had tried tobring herself to approach Marjorie and humbly sue for pardon. The weightof her own troubled conscience prevented her from yielding, and thus shekept her sorrow locked in her aching heart and waited dejectedly for theday when she must leave the Deans' pleasant home, taking with hernothing but bitter self-reproach for her own folly. 

It was in this black mood that Mary had wandered forth that evening andstraight into the path of the very thing that was destined to bring herpeace. Mignon had hardly driven away when Mary caught the venturesomeyoungster in her arms. The boy gave a jubilant little shout as he sawwho held him. Mary, however, was still at a loss regarding the meaningof what she had seen. 

"Every time the cross girl scolds Charlie, you come and get him, " wasthe joyful exclamation. "She wasn't cross all the time. She gave Charliea ride and lots of ice cream. Then she wented away. She said she'd tellConnie to come and find me. Connie's gone to the the'tre. I wented, too, but the naughty girl got Charlie. "

"Charlie boy, try to tell Mary, where was he when the cross girl gothim?"

"Way over there. " Charlie waved an indefinite hand in the wrongdirection. 

Mary stood still, in a perplexed endeavor to read meaning in the natureof Mignon's strange action. Suddenly the light burst upon her. "Oh!" shecried, dismay written on every feature. "Now I begin to understand!" Sheglanced wildly about her. Far up the street shone the light of anoncoming street-car. Seizing Charlie by the hand she hurried him to thecorner. It was not more than two minutes until the car came to acreaking stop before them. Mary helped Charlie into it and fumbled inher purse. She had just two nickels. Breathing her relief, she paid thefares, deposited Charlie on a seat beside her, then stared out thewindow in an anxious watch of the streets. 

But while Mary Raymond was making a desperate attempt to redeem herselfby at least one kind act, Mignon La Salle had reached the theatre. Dropping all appearance of haste, she strolled past the groups of gailyattired boys and girls, nodding condescendingly to this one and that, and switched downstairs to the dressing room which she occupied withseveral other girls. Leisurely removing her cloak, she plumed herselfbefore the mirror. Her black eyes constantly sought her watch, however. At last she turned from the mirror with a peculiar smile and abruptlyleft the room. Straight to the star's dressing room she walked. Her thinfingers beat a sharp tattoo on the door. It opened, and she stood faceto face with Constance Stevens, who was just about to take her place inthe wings, preparatory to the beginning of the opera. She was to makeher first entrance directly after the opening chorus. 

"I came to tell you, Miss Stevens, " said Mignon with an indescribablesmile of pure malice, "that I saw your brother, Charlie, wandering alongthe street as I drove to the theatre. I suppose he has run away. "

With a frightened cry, Constance dashed past her and up the stairs. Mignon laughed aloud as she watched the vanishing figure. "That settlesher, " she muttered. "Harriet Delaney can sing my part. She hasunderstudied it. " Springing into sudden action she ran to her dressingroom, eluding a collision with the feminine portion of the chorus whowere scurrying for the stage in obedience to a gong that summoned themto the wings. Reaching to a hook in the wall, from which depended herseveral costumes, hung over one another, she took from under them analmost exact copy of the gown Constance Stevens was wearing in the firstact and held it up with a murmur of satisfaction. Stripping off the gownshe wore she hastily donned this other costume. Then she sat down toawait what she believed would happen. 

But while Mignon busied herself with her own affairs, Constance wasmaking a hurried search for Laurie Armitage. Unluckily, he had gone, forthe moment, to the front of the house. Professor Harmon, too, was not insight. He also had gone to the front to take his place in the orchestrapit. What could she do? The performance was about to begin. To leavethe theatre on a search for Charlie meant disaster to Laurie's operetta. To leave Charlie to wander about the streets alone was even moreterrifying. She flitted past the waiting choristers, drawn up foraction, without a word of explanation. Marjorie Dean caught one look ather friend's terrified face. It was enough to convince her thatsomething unusual had happened. Slipping out of her place in the lineshe followed Constance, who was making directly for the stage door. Marjorie saw her fling it open and glance wildly into the night. She rantoward Connie, calling out, "What is the matter?"

As the question crossed her lips both girls saw a familiar girlishfigure, strangely burdened, running toward them as fast as the weightshe carried would permit her to run. With a cry which rang in Marjorie'sears for days afterwards Constance darted forward. She wrapped the girland her burden in a tumultuous embrace, laughing and crying in the samebreath. 

"The cross girl got Charlie, then she runned away and Mary comed andfound him. Charlie's goin' to the the'tre to play in the band. Mary saidso. " He wriggled from the tangle of encircling arms to the stone walk. "Hello, Marj'ry, " he greeted genially. 

Marjorie turned from the marvelous sight of the two she loved best ineach other's arms. It was too wonderful for belief. Tardy remembrancecaused her to utter a dismayed, "You'll be late, Connie! Hurry in. Maryand I will take care of Charlie. It doesn't matter if I do miss theopening number. "

With a swift glance at Mary that contained untold gratitude, Constancefaltered, "I--love--you--Mary, for taking care of Charlie! I'll see youagain as soon as I can. Good-bye!"

She was gone in a flash, leaving Mary and Marjorie to face each otherwith full hearts. 

"You are my own, dear Mary again. " Marjorie's clear voice was husky withemotion, "and my very first and best chum, forever!"

Mary nodded dumbly, her blue eyes overflowing. "I've--come--back--to--you--to stay, " she whispered. And on the stonesteps, worn by the passing of the feet of those who had entered thetheatre to play many parts, these two young players in Life's varieddrama enacted a little scene of love and forgiveness that was entirelytheir own. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THE FULFILLMENT

The chorus were tunefully lifting up their voices in their initialnumber, their watchful eyes on Professor Harmon's baton, when thebelated Princess hurried to her position in the wings. Laurie Armitagehad returned to the stage and was instituting a wild search forConstance. Failing to find her upstairs, he had hastened below, and wasrushing desperately up and down the corridors, peering into the opendoorways of the deserted dressing rooms. Only one door was closed. Behind it a black-haired girl awaited a call to fame. He calledConstance by name, again and again, then, receiving no answer, he dashedup the stairs, encountering the object of his search at the very heightof his alarm. Marjorie Dean stood on guard beside her. She advancedtoward the excited composer, saying briefly, "Let her alone, Laurie. She's awfully nervous and upset. She has just had a dreadful fright. I'll tell you about it later. "

Constance cast a reassuring glance at Laurie. She had heard Marjorie'sprotecting words. "I'm all right now, " she nodded. "I won't fail you. "

The dulcet notes of her opening song, "I'm tired of being a Princess, "brought immeasurable relief to Lawrence and Marjorie, as they stood inthe wings, their anxious gaze fixed upon Constance. In one of thedressing rooms below, the silver strains came faintly to the ears ofMignon La Salle. During her interval of waiting she had been softlyhumming that very song, confident of the summons she believed she wouldreceive. She had no doubt that her cowardly plan had worked only toowell. Knowing Constance Stevens' deep affection for her tiny fosterbrother, she could readily see a vision of the terrified girl rushingout into the night in search of him, her duty to the operetta completelyforgotten. As the sound of that hated voice reached her, she sprang tothe door of her dressing room and half opening it, halted to listen. Awave of black rage swept over her. Forgetting her recent change ofcostume, she took the stairs, two at a time, and ran squarely againstLawrence Armitage and Marjorie Dean. 

Marjorie could not resist a low laugh of contemptuous scorn as sheviewed the stormy-eyed girl whose unscrupulous plan had failed. Thecontempt in her pretty face deepened as her quick eyes took in thedetails of Mignon's costume. The French girl's indiscreet haste to makeready had convicted her. Marjorie had already learned from Mary all thathad occurred. It needed this one proof to complete the evidence. Lawrence Armitage was regarding Mignon with perplexed brow. "That is notthe costume you wore last night, Miss La Salle, " he said with coldabruptness. Scrutinizing her closely, amazement began to dawn on hisclear-cut features. "When did you----"

With a low cry of mingled humiliation and fury, Mignon turned and randown the stairs, her slender body trembling with the anger of a defeatborn of the failure of her plan and her own betraying haste. Gaining theshelter of her dressing room, she gave herself up to a paroxysm of ragethat ended in a burst of hysterical sobs. 

The end of the first act brought a troop of hurrying, laughing girlsdownstairs. Instead of the alert, self-possessed Mignon who had sweptproudly into the dressing room that night, those who shared the roomwith her found a convulsive weeper lying face downward on the floor. 

"What's the matter?" was the concerted cry. 

A good-natured senior took Mignon gently by the shoulders. "Get up, Mignon, " she commanded. "If you don't stop crying, you won't be able togo on when your cue comes, let alone trying to sing. " Mignon's firstentrance took place in the second act and occurred directly after therise of the curtain. 

The French girl half raised herself at this reminder, then sank back toher original position with a fresh burst of racking sobs. Finding hergood-natured ministrations ineffectual, the senior left Mignon toherself and began to change methodically to her peasant costume of thesecond act, the scene of which was laid in a village and in front of thecottage where she supposedly dwelt. 

"Ten minutes, " called the warning tones of the freshman who was servingas call boy. Still Mignon refused to heed the admonitions of hercompanions. 

"Better call Laurie Armitage, " suggested one girl. "She can't possiblygo on. Harriet Delaney will have to take her place. Mignon isn't evendressed for her part. Where do you suppose----" The senior did notfinish her sentence. Something in the familiar details of the gownMignon wore aroused an unpleasant suspicion in her active brain. Aswift-footed messenger had already sped away to find the young composer, who, with the departure of Ronald Atwell had taken the arduous duties ofstage manager upon his capable shoulders. 

When the information of Mignon's collapse reached him, he made no moveto go to her. Instead, he beckoned to Harriet Delaney, who had just comeupstairs, and whispered a few words to her which caused her colorfulface to pale, then turn pinker than usual. 

"But I haven't a suitable costume, " several girls heard her protest. 

"Go on as you are. Your costume is suitable, " reassured Laurie. 

But down in the dressing room Mignon had struggled to her feet. Theknowledge that her unfairness was to cost her her own part in theoperetta aroused her to action. In feverish haste she began to tear offthe gown she wore. 

"Second act, " rang out through the corridor. With a low wail of genuinegrief, Mignon dropped into a chair. She heard Harriet Delaney begin herfirst song. Unable to bear the chagrin that was hers, she sprang up. Readjusting the gown she had partly thrown off, she seized her cloak andwrapped it about her. Then she fled up the stairway, and into the calm, starlit night to where her runabout awaited her, the victim of her ownwrong-doing. 

 * * * * *

It was a happy trio of girls that, shortly before midnight, climbed intothe Deans' automobile, in which Mr. And Mrs. Dean sat patiently awaitingtheir exit from the stage door. Lawrence Armitage's operetta had been anartistic as well as a financial success. It had been a "Standing RoomOnly" audience, and the proceeds were to be given to the SanfordHospital for Children. Laurie had decreed this as a quiet memento toConstance's devotion to little Charlie during his days of infirmity. Theaudience had not been chary of their applause. The principals hadreceived numerous curtain calls, Constance had received an enthusiasticovation, and many beautiful floral tokens from her admiring friends. Laurie had been assailed with cries of "Composer! Speech! Speech!" andhad been obliged to respond. Even the chorus came in for its share ofapprobation, and to her intense amazement Marjorie Dean received twoimmense bouquets of roses, a fitting tribute to her fresh, young beauty. One of them bore Hal Macy's card, the other she afterward learned wasthe joint contribution of a number of her school friends. 

Only one person left the theatre that night who did not share in theenthusiasm of the Sanford folks over the creditable work of their townboys and girls. Mignon La Salle's father had, for once, put businessaside and come out to hear his daughter sing. Why she had not appearedon the stage, he could not guess. His first thought was that she hadtold him an untruth, but the printed programme carried her name as aprincipal. He arrived home to be greeted with the servant's assertionsthat Miss La Salle was ill and had retired. Going to her room to inquireinto the nature of her sudden illness, he was refused admittance, andshrewdly deciding that his daughter had been worsted in a schoolgirl'sdispute in which she appeared always to be engaged, he left her toherself. It was not until long afterward, when came the inevitable dayof reckoning, which was to make Mignon over, that he learned the truestory of that particular night. 

It had been arranged beforehand that Constance was to spend the nightwith Marjorie. Shortly after Charlie had been comfortably established inConstance's dressing room, Uncle John Roland had appeared at the stagedoor of the theatre, his placid face filled with genuine alarm. He hadbeen left in charge of Charlie, and the child had eluded his somewhatlax guardianship and run away. Finding the little violin missing, heguessed that the boy had made his usual attempt to find the theatre, andthe old man had hastened directly there. Charlie was sent home with him, despite his wailing plea to remain, thus leaving Constance free to carryout her original plan. 

The Deans exchanged significant smiles at sight of Marjorie, Mary andConstance approaching the automobile, three abreast, arms firmly linked. 

"Attention!" called Mr. Dean. "Salute your officers!" Two hands went upin instant obedience of the order. Constance hesitated, then followedsuit. 

"I see my regiment has increased, " remarked Mr. Dean, as he sprang outto assist the three into the car. 

"Yes, Connie has joined the company, " rejoiced Marjorie. "I am answeringfor her. She needs military discipline. "

"Three soldiers are ever so much more interesting than two, " put in Maryshyly. Her earnest eyes sought the face of her Captain, as though to askmute pardon for her errors. Mrs. Dean's affectionate smile carried withit the absolution Mary craved, and Mr. Dean's firm clasp of her hand, as he helped her into the car, was equally reassuring. 

Mrs. Dean had ordered a light repast especially on account of Constanceand Marjorie. She had not counted on Mary, but she was a most welcomeaddition. Their faithful maid, Delia, had insisted on staying up to makecocoa and serve the supper party. 

"Captain, " begged Marjorie, as the three girls appeared in her room, after going upstairs, "please let us stay up as late as we wishto-night? We simply must talk things out. To-morrow is Saturday, youknow. "

"For once I will withdraw all objections. You may stay up as late as youplease. " The three girls kissed her in turn. Mary was last. Mrs. Deandrew her close and kissed her twice. "Have you won the fight, Lieutenant?" she whispered. 

Mary simply nodded, her blue eyes misty. She could not trust herself tospeak. "To-morrow--I'll--tell you, " she faltered, then hurried toovertake Constance and Marjorie, who were half-way upstairs. 

The "talk" lasted until two o'clock that morning. It was interspersedwith laughter, fond embracing and a few tears. When it ended, Marjorie'sdream of friendship had come true. 

Mary had more to say than the others. She confessed to writing theletter of warning that had so mystified the basket-ball team. 

"I knew you wrote it, " Marjorie said quietly. "I found it out bycomparing the paper it was written on with a letter I had received fromyou. I was so glad. I knew you couldn't be like Mignon, even if you wereher friend. "

"I was never her friend, nor she mine, " asserted Mary with a positiveshake of her head. "I was jealous of Constance and was glad to findsomeone besides myself who didn't like her. I never knew the true storyof the pin until Jerry----" She paused, coloring deeply. 

"So Jerry told you. That is just like her. She is the kindest-heartedgirl in the world. Next to you two, I like her best of all myschoolmates. " Marjorie's affectionate tones bespoke her deep regard forthe stout girl whose matter-of-fact ways and funny sayings were aperpetual joy. 

"If only I had listened to you and Connie in the first place. " Marysighed. "I've spoiled my sophomore year and tried hard enough to spoilyours. And there's so little of it left! I won't have time to show youhow sorry I am and how much I care. "

"We will begin now and make the most of what is left of it, " proposedMarjorie gently. Then she added, "Jerry didn't know all that happenedlast year. I would like to tell you about it. "

"Please do, " urged Mary humbly. 

Marjorie told the story of her first year in Sanford, frequently turningto Constance for confirmation. When she had finished Mary was silent. She had no words with which to express her utter contrition. 

"Now you know our sad history, " smiled Marjorie, with a kindly attemptat lightening the burden of self-reproach Mary bore. 

"But neither of you has told _me_ how Mary happened to find Charlieto-night, " reminded Constance. "I am anxious to know. This is the firsttime he ever ran so far away. "

"Oh, no, you forget the night he went to Mignon's----" Mary broke offshortly, red with embarrassment. She had not intended to speak of this. Constance's positive assertion had caught her off her guard. 

"Went to Mignon's?" was the questioning chorus of her two listeners. 

Mary was obliged to enlighten them. "I wondered if he ever told you, Connie. He promised he wouldn't, " she ended. 

"And he never told, the little rascal, " was Constance's quick reply. "Noone except the maid knew it, and you may be sure she never said a word. "

"It was that night I came to my senses. " Mary smiled a trifle wistfully. "I saw myself as others saw me. You thought I was grieving over Mignon, Marjorie. But I wasn't. It was my own shortcomings that bothered me. NowI must tell you about to-night, and then you will know everything aboutme. "

Constance received the account of Mignon's attempt to supplant her inthe operetta with no trace of resentment. "I ought to be angry with her, but I can't. She has suffered more to-night than I would have if herplan had succeeded. Poor Mignon, I wonder if she will ever wake up?"

"That's hard to say. At any rate, she did some good, even if she didn'tintend to, " reminded Marjorie. "I'm going to try to keep my junior yearin high school free of snarls. There is no use in mourning for the past. Let us set our faces to the future and be glad that we three are donewith misunderstandings. Marjorie Dean, High School Junior, is going tobe a better soldier than Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore has everbeen. "

Both Constance Stevens and Mary Raymond smiled at this earnest resolve. In their hearts they felt that Marjorie Dean need make no vows. Shestood already on the heights of loyalty and truth, steadfast andunassailable. 

How fully Marjorie Dean carried out her resolve and what happened to heras a junior in Sanford High School will be told in "Marjorie Dean, HighSchool Junior, " a story which every friend of this delightful girl willsurely welcome. 

THE END

 Transcriber's Note:

 Alternative spelling and variations in hyphenated words have been retained as in the original publication. 

 The following changes have been made:

 who were maknig _changed to_ who were making

 Do you miss anyone? _changed to_ "Do you miss anyone?

 racuous voice _changed to_ raucous voice

 atuomobile, and when _changed to_ automobile, and when

 asperin tablets _changed to_ aspirin tablets

 strange predeliction _changed to_ strange predilection

 sinmply because she _changed to_ simply because she

 atlhough the latter _changed to_ although the latter

 stayled her, and _changed to_ styled her, and

 continual penace for _changed to_ continual penance for

 the previous Christmas eve _changed to_ the previous Christmas Eve

 please don't be disapponted _changed to_ please don't be disappointed

 Who says I'm not a poet _changed to_ "Who says I'm not a poet

 That let's me out _changed to_ That lets me out

 was alloted the part _changed to_ was allotted the part

 red with embarassment _changed to_ red with embarrassment

 soldier than Marjorie, Dean _changed to_ soldier than Marjorie Dean