en only too real. If anyone had even intimated to her
beforehand that the party which had promised so much was fated to end so
disagreeably, she would have laughed the prediction to scorn. If only
Jerry had kept her unpleasantly candid remarks to herself! Yet, after
all, she could hardly blame her very much. What Jerry had said had been
intended for her ears alone. As hostess, however, she should not have
permitted Jerry to continue. Marjorie blamed herself heavily for this.
To be sure, it had been hardly fair in Mary and Mignon to listen. They
should have made known their presence. She wondered what she would have
done under the same circumstances. Her sense of honor answered her. She
knew she would have immediately come forward. She could not understand
why Mary had not done so. Loyal to the core, Marjorie's faith in her
chum refused to die. The Mary she had known for so many years had not
been lacking in honor. What she had feared from the first had come to
pass. Mary had been swayed by Mignon's baleful personality. The
much-talked-of reform had ended in a glaring fizzle.

For some time Marjorie lay still, her thoughts busy with the disquieting
events of the previous night. She had longed to turn and comfort the
tense little figure standing immovable in the middle of her room, but
her Captain's word was law, and Marjorie could but sadly acknowledge to
herself that her mother had acted for the best. So she could do nothing
but follow her from the room with a heavy heart.

What was to be the outcome of the affair she dared not even imagine. A
reconciliation with Mary was her earnest desire. This, however, could
hardly be brought about. Perhaps they would never again be friends. A
rush of tears blinded her brown eyes. Burying her face in the pillow,
Marjorie gave vent to the sorrow which overflowed her soul.

The sound of light, tapping fingers on the door caused her to sit up
hastily. "Come in," she called, trying to steady her voice.

The door opened to admit Mary Raymond. Her babyish face looked white and
wan in the clear morning light. For hours after her door had closed upon
Marjorie and her mother she had sat on the edge of her bed in her pretty
blue party frock, brooding on her wrongs. When she had finally prepared
for sleep, it was only to toss and turn in her bed, wide-awake and
resentful. At daylight she had risen listlessly, then fixing upon a
certain plan of action, had bathed, put on a simple house gown a