" But
Mary Raymond's thoughts were far from the subject of her mother.
Instead, they were fixed upon what Jerry Macy had said that morning
about Constance Stevens. Miss Archer had asked about Constance, too. She
had spoken of her as though she and Marjorie were best friends. What had
she meant when she said, "Well, Marjorie, you and Constance deserve fair
sophomore weather after last year's storms." The flame of jealousy,
which Mary had sought to stifle after her first meeting with Constance,
was kindled afresh.

"What did Miss Archer mean when she spoke of you and Miss Stevens--and
last year's storms?" she asked abruptly.

"Oh, I can't explain now. It's too long a story. Here we are at the
study hall." Her mind occupied with school, Marjorie had not caught the
strained note in Mary's voice.

"She doesn't wish me to know," was Mary's jealous thought. "She is
keeping secrets from me. All right. Let her keep them. Only I know one
thing, and that is--I'll _never_, _never_, _never_ be friends with
Constance Stevens, not even to please Marjorie!"

CHAPTER V

AN UNCALLED-FOR REBUFF

The great study hall which Marjorie and Mary entered had little of the
atmosphere supposed to pervade a hall of learning. A loud buzz of
conversation greeted their ears. It came from the groups of girls
collected in various parts of the hall, who were making the most of
their opportunities to talk until called to order. Marjorie gave one
swift glance toward the lonely desk on the platform. It had always
reminded her of an island in the midst of a great sea. She breathed a
little sigh of relief. Her pet aversion, Miss Merton, was not occupying
the chair behind it. This, no doubt, accounted for the general air of
relaxation that pervaded the room. Her alert eyes searched the room for
Constance Stevens. She was not present. She gave another sigh, this time
it was one of disappointment. She had seen Constance only twice since
Mary's arrival. On one occasion she had taken dinner at the Deans' home.
The three girls had spent, what seemed to Marjorie, an unusually
pleasant evening. Constance, feeling dimly that Mary did not quite
approve of her, had dropped her usually reticent manner and exerted
herself to please. So well had she succeeded that Mary had rather
unwillingly succumbed to her charm and grown fairly cordial.

Totally unconscious of the shadow which had darkened the pleasure of
Constance's first meeting with Mary, and equally