began, punctuated with much talk and laughter. To Marjorie it seemed as
though she had not been so happy for ages. It was wonderful to know that
her beloved Mary was actually with her once more, and still more
wonderful that she would continue to be with her indefinitely.

At dinner she beamed joyously across the table at the little blue-eyed
girl, while their elders discussed and settled her destiny for the
coming year. Mr. and Mrs. Dean met Mr. Raymond's request in behalf of
his daughter with the whole-heartedness that so characterized them. In
fact, they were highly in favor of receiving Mary as a member of their
little household.

"Two soldiers are better than one," asserted Mr. Dean humorously. "I
believe in preparedness. 'In times of peace prepare for war,' you know.
With such a valiant army under my command I could do wonders if attacked
by the enemy."

After dinner they all repaired to the living room, where the discussion
of the all-important subject was continued, and when at eleven o'clock
two sleepy, but blissfully happy, lieutenants climbed the stairs to bed,
Mary Raymond lacked nothing except actual adoption papers, signed and
sealed, to admit her into the Deans' hospitable fold.

Yet there was one tiny drawback to Mary's joy. Try as she might she
could not forget Constance Stevens and Marjorie's too evident fondness
for her. From Marjorie's early letters she had formed the conclusion
that Constance was merely a poor nobody, whom her chum, with her usual
spirit of generosity had tried to befriend. Marjorie's later letters had
contained little pertaining to Constance. Mary had not known of the long
period of estrangement between Constance and Marjorie that had so nearly
wrecked their budding friendship, and of the many changes that time had
wrought in the life of the girl who looked like her. She had, therefore,
been quite unprepared to meet the dainty, well-dressed young woman whom
Marjorie appeared to hold in such strong affection. She reflected that
night, a trifle resentfully, after Marjorie had kissed her good-night
and left her, that it was very strange in Marjorie not to have put her
in possession of the real facts of the case. Still, it was really not
her affair. If Marjorie chose to become chummy with Constance without
even writing a word of it to her, there was nothing to do except to be
silent over the whole affair. Perhaps Marjorie would tell her all about
it later. Certainly she would ask no