acing herself for what she felt
would follow. She was not the only one who had seen the pin in
Constance's possession.

"Did Constance Stevens find it?" quizzed Jerry.

"Yes."

"Oh, then that's all right. I saw her wearing it this morning; and I'm
not the only one who saw her, either. Mignon had her eye on it in French
class, and I wouldn't be surprised to hear of some hateful remark she
had made about it. You know, she still insists that Constance took her
bracelet. She might be mean enough to say that Constance found your pin
and didn't give it back to you."

Marjorie stared at Jerry in amazement. Without knowing it, the stout
girl had exactly stated the truth about the pin.

"You needn't stare at me like that," went on Jerry. "Of course, we know
that Constance wouldn't be so silly as to try to keep a pin belonging to
someone else that everyone recognized; but lots of girls would believe
it. I suppose you let Constance wear it because you two are so chummy;
but you'd better get it back and wear it yourself. Then Mignon can't say
a word."

"I'll think about it," was Marjorie's evasive answer, but once she had
said good-bye to the two girls she began to deliberate within herself as
to what she had best do. Here was an exigency against which she had
failed to provide. She had resolved never to betray Constance to the
girls, but now Constance had, by openly wearing the pin, betrayed
herself. Either she would be obliged to go to Constance and demand her
own or allow her to wear the bit of jewelry and create the impression
that she had sanctioned the wearing of it.

When she returned to school that afternoon she had half determined to
see Constance and put the situation fairly to her, but rather to her
relief Constance did not appear at the afternoon session, nor was she in
school the next day. When Friday came and she was still absent, Marjorie
was divided between her pride and a desire to go to the little gray
house and settle matters. On Saturday she was still halting between two
opinions, and it was four o'clock Saturday afternoon before she put on
her wraps with the air of one who has made up her mind and started for
the Stevens'.

As she approached the house she looked toward the particular window
where Charlie was so fond of stationing himself to peer out on the dingy
little street, but there was no sign of the boy's white, eager face. To
her vivid imagination the very house itself wore a sad, cheerless asp