hat Stevens girl to-night, Mignon?" inquired
Susan Atwell as she and the French girl stood together for a moment
between dances.

Mignon's elfish eyes gleamed angrily. "I think such beggars as she ought
never to be allowed to come to our parties. Goodness knows where she
borrowed that dress. Perhaps she didn't borrow it." She raised her
shoulders significantly. "If Laurie Armitage knew what a low,
disreputable family she has, I don't think he'd waste his time with
her."

"Did Laurie ask you to dance to-night?" asked Susan inquisitively.

But with a muttered, "I want to speak to Marcia," Mignon flounced off
without answering Susan's question, and the latter confided to Muriel
afterward that Mignon was mad as anything because Laurie hadn't noticed
her, but was trailing about after Miss Nobody Stevens.

Completely unaware that she was adding to the French girl's list of
grievances, Constance had danced to her heart's content, quite positive
in her own mind that she had never met a more delightful boy than
Lawrence Armitage, and that never before had she so greatly enjoyed
herself. And now the wonderful party was almost over. She examined her
card to see with whom she had the next dance. Then her glance straying
down, she noticed that a bit of the tiny plaiting at the bottom of her
chiffon skirt had become loose and was hanging. Fearful of a fall, she
hurried toward the dressing-room. She would have the maid take a stitch
or two in it.

But the maid was not in the room.

A solitary figure in an apricot gown stood before the mirror, lingered
for a moment after Constance entered, then glided noiselessly out.
Evincing no sign of having seen Mignon, Constance began a diligent
hunt for a needle and thread. Failing to find them, she fastened the
loose bit of plaiting with a pin and hurried out into the gymnasium. Her
next dance was with Lawrence Armitage. She must not miss it.

To her surprise Mignon re-entered the dressing-room as she left it.
Constance quickly made her way toward the corner which her friends had
selected as their headquarters.

"I tore the plaiting of my dress," she said ruefully to Marjorie. "I
couldn't find the maid or a needle, so I had to pin it. I'm awfully
sorry. I don't know how it happened."

"That's nothing," returned Marjorie, cheerfully. "I have a great long
tear in my sleeve. Someone caught hold of it in Paul Jones, and away it
went. Don't look so guilty over a little thing like that."