and went slowly
downstairs to the locker room. She gave an impatient sigh as she pinned
on her hat. Exploring new territory wasn't half so interesting as she
could wish. Then a light footstep sounded at her side. A dignified
little voice said, stiffly, "Will you please allow me to get my hat?"

Marjorie whirled about in amazement. Could she believe her eyes? The
voice belonged to the Mary girl; they were to share the same locker.

CHAPTER VI

THE PLEDGE

"Oh, I am so glad we are to have a locker together!" exclaimed Marjorie,
impulsively. "I've been very anxious to know you. I really owe you an
apology. I spoke to you in the street the other day. I don't know what
you thought of me, but you look so much like my dearest chum in
B---- that I called to you before I realized what I was doing."

The other girl regarded Marjorie with the suspicious, uneasy eyes of a
cornered animal. Then, without answering, she reached for her hat and
was about to go silently on her way, when something in Marjorie's
gracious words seemed to touch her and she said, grudgingly, "I remember
you."

"That's nice," beamed Marjorie. "I was afraid you wouldn't. Let me tell
you about my chum." She launched forth in an enthusiastic description of
Mary Raymond and of their long friendship. "I wrote Mary about having
seen a girl that looked like her. She will be very curious to see you.
She's coming to visit me some time during the year. So I hope you and I
will be friends. But I haven't even told you who I am. My name is
Marjorie Dean. Won't you please tell me yours?" She offered her hand
winningly, but the strange, self-contained young girl ignored it.

"My name is Constance Stevens." Her voice was coldly reluctant, carrying
with it an unmistakable rebuff.

Marjorie drew back, puzzled and hurt. She was not used to having her
friendly overtures rejected. The blue-eyed girl saw the shrinking
movement, and, stirred by some hitherto unknown impulse, stretched forth
her hand. "Please forgive me for being so rude," she said contritely.
"It is awfully sweet in you to tell me about your chum and to say that
you wish to be my friend. You are the first girl, who has been so nice
with me since I came to Sanford. How I hate them!" Her expressive face
darkened and her blue eyes became filled with brooding, sullen anger.

"Are you going home to luncheon now?" asked Marjorie, with a view toward
keeping away from disagreeable subjects.

The other