dged
that she took the butterfly pin, but had not offered to return it.

"I couldn't ask her for it," she sighed to herself, as, at last, she
rose, switched on the electric light, and viewed her tear-swollen face
in the mirror, "not when she had kept it all this time. She knew how
dreadfully I felt over losing it, and she certainly saw the notice in
the hall." A flash of resentment tinged her grief.

"I can't forgive her. I'll never forgive her. I----" Marjorie's lips
began to quiver ominously. "I won't cry any more," she asserted stoutly.
"My face is a sight now. Mother will ask me what the trouble is, and I
don't want a soul to know. Of course, we can't go to the matinee
to-morrow. We can't ever go anywhere together again." Once more the
tears threatened to fall. She shut her eyes and forced them back, then
went dejectedly down the hall to the bathroom to lave her flushed face
and aching eyes.

By the time dinner was ready Marjorie showed no traces of her grief.
She was unusually quiet at dinner, however, and her mother inquired
anxiously if she were ill.

"Did you wear your new coat this afternoon?" her father asked soberly.

"Yes, General. I went to see Constance." Marjorie tried to speak
naturally.

"Ah, that accounts for it," he declared, putting on a professional air.
"Too much magnificence has struck in. You have, no doubt, a
well-developed case of pride and vanity."

"I haven't a single shred of either," protested Marjorie, laughing a
little at her father's tone, which was an exact imitation of their
former family physician. "That sounded just like good old Doctor Bates."

"Are you and Constance going to take Charlie to the matinee to-morrow,
dear?" asked her mother.

"No, Mother," returned Marjorie. Then as though determined to evade
further questioning, she asked: "May I go shopping with you?"

"I wish you would. You can select the material for your new dress and
the lace for that blouse I am making for you. It is so pretty. My new
fashion book came to-day. I have picked out several styles of gowns for
you."

"What did you pick out for me?" inquired Mr. Dean, ingenuously.

"You can't have any new clothes. Too much magnificence would strike in.
You would have, no doubt, a well-developed case of pride and vanity,"
retorted Marjorie, wickedly.

"Report at the guard house at once, for disrespectful conduct to your
superior officer," ordered Mr. Dean with great severity.

"Not to-night, thank you