she felt that above all she prized the
friendship 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 a
loyalty and devotion, second only to that which she accorded Marjorie
herself.

"At last my dearest wish has come true!" exclaimed Marjorie when
Constance had been presented to Mr. Raymond and she and Mary had clasped
hands. "I've been so anxious for you two to know each other. Now that
you'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 easily
pass 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 tone
intended to be cordial, but which somehow lacked heart, "I'm awfully
glad to know you, Miss Stevens. Marjorie has written me often of you."

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

"Now that you know each other, you can postpone getting chummy until
later," 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 an
appearance."

Possessing herself of Mary's traveling bag she led the way with Mary
through the station and out to the opposite side where Mrs. Dean awaited
them. Constance followed with Mr. Raymond. In her heart she experienced
an odd disappointment. Was it her imagination, or did Mary's cordiality
seem a trifle forced? Perhaps it would have been better if she had not
accompanied Marjorie to the station to meet Mary. Perhaps Mary was a
trifle hurt that her chum had not come alone. She decided that she would
not ride to Marjorie's home with the party, although she had been
invited to dine with them that night. She could not bear to think of
intruding. She managed to answer Mr. Raymond's courteous remarks, but
her 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 as
possible.

"I think I had better not go home with you, Marjorie," she said in a low
voice. They had reached the waiting automobile and Mary and Mrs. Dean
wer