"Elsie dear," he said in a rather low voice, as he put on his overcoat
in the entry, "I wish you would try to do something to give Marjorie a
good time to-day. She is looking rather down-hearted this morning, and
I'm afraid she may be a little homesick. Can't you arrange to take her
out to luncheon with you?"

Elsie shrugged her shoulders.

"She hasn't been invited," she said, shortly. She did not think it
necessary to add that Carol Hastings had proposed that Marjorie should
make one of the party, but that she herself had opposed the plan,
declaring that they would have a much pleasanter time by themselves.

Mr. Carleton frowned.

"I should think you knew Carol Hastings well enough to ask her if you
might bring Marjorie with you," he said impatiently. "Remember, Elsie,
what I have told you several times before; I won't have Marjorie
neglected."

Now it was rather unfortunate that Mr. Carleton should have chosen just
this particular time for reminding his daughter of her duty. As a rule,
his words would have produced the desired effect, for Elsie stood
considerably in awe of her father, but just at present she was very
angry with Marjorie, and this admonition only made her angrier still.

"Marjorie is all right," she said, sulkily; "she manages to have a good
time wherever she goes. If you knew as much about her as I do you
wouldn't worry for fear she might be neglected."

Mr. Carleton did not look satisfied, but he had an appointment to keep,
and there was no time for argument, so, after giving his daughter a
good-bye kiss, and telling her to be an unselfish little girl, he
hurried away, and had soon forgotten the incident in the interest of
more important matters.

Elsie did not go back to the parlor, but went at once to her mother's
room, where she remained for some time with the door closed. Marjorie,
having finished her breakfast, wandered aimlessly over to the window,
where she stood looking down at the crowds of people and vehicles in the
street below. It was a lovely morning and, early as it was, the park
seemed full of children. Some had already mounted their ponies, and
others were on roller skates or bicycles. How Marjorie longed to join
them, but going out alone was strictly forbidden. She was feeling very
unhappy, and more homesick than at any time since coming to New York.

"I must get something to do or I shall make a goose of myself and begin
to cry," she said desperately, and picking up the fi