,
and for a while victory hung doubtful. Then fate decided the
issue, and, in guise of the maternal voice from the window,
called Margery off.

"Margery Blair," the voice commanded, "stop that noise this
instant! Aren't you ashamed to tease the girls so? Stop it! Do
you hear me?"

Yes, Margery heard; and, knowing from experience the futility of
argument, she stopped.

"Are we ready?" Gladys Bailey asked, suddenly awakening, as it were,
from a reverie. The twins, a little heated from their exertions, were
quite ready, and, holding their card-cases--envelopes filled with
cards of home manufacture--in young-ladyish fashion, they started off,
copying, as best they could, the mincing steps of Gladys.

If Margery shouted after them no parting taunt, it was not
because she had none ready. The ear corresponding to the maternal
voice was probably still at the window; and Margery, though
desperate enough for any fate sufficiently tragic, disliked the
thought of spending the afternoon in bed. Therefore she kept an
outward silence. But her heart would not be still, and every
little outraged feeling in her body, finding a voice of its own,
clamored aloud: "Oh, if we could only pay 'em back! Oh, if we
could only pay 'em back!" Margery, alas! had not yet learned that
forgiveness is sweeter than revenge. Of course she would forgive
them if, say, a milk-wagon should run over her and she had only a
few hours to live. Then how they would cry! But as it was too
late in the afternoon for any milk-wagons to be about, such a
death-bed forgiveness was clearly out of the question. So the one
thing left was revenge.

Yet what revenge was possible? None, absolutely none. That
afternoon she was utterly powerless to shake by any act of hers
the equanimity of those three complacent young persons. There was
nothing belonging to them which she could smash, hide, or
appropriate. There was nothing they had ever said or done which
now, in her hour of need, she could use against them. They were
in fact so impossibly, so hopelessly--no, not exactly virtuous,
but _proper_, that the mere contemplation of their colorless
lives threw Margery into a most deplorable state of hatred,
malice, and all uncharitableness.

As the hopelessness of revenge settled on Margery's spirit, a
feeling of loneliness began to creep over her. She could think of
nothing to do, and of nobody to whom she might appeal for
sympathy or amusement. The limitless expanse of an i