Marjorie Dean
ups 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 t
t. 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 dim
, and equally ignorant of Mary's secret resentment of her new friend, Marjorie had retired that night in
riends with little Charlie. The quaint child had gravely informed her that she looked like Connie and immediately taken her into his confidence regarding his aspirations toward some day playing in "a big band." He had also obligingly favored her
d Mary had taken their departure from Constance's home that afternoon. But now Monda
te." Marjorie's gaze traveled anxiously toward the door. An unmis
with which she had been hob-nobbing and hurried down the aisle. "Come over here, you dear thing. We've b
idn't you?" laughed Marjorie.
ie and Connie are inseparable, so, of course, we naturally mistook you for her. I never saw two girls look so much
own views in the matter, and they did
rjorie was besieged on all sides with eager inquiries. The girls had discovered, as she neared them, that her companion was not
a minute, Miss Raymond,
em just in time to hear Muriel's remark. "I knew she was comi
rma Linton in a guarded tone. "Do you miss a
ought the door. "She said she would meet me here this morning. Let
nod
ook about her. "Why, no. Oh,
thers she murmured, "Mignon won't be with us this year. You will
e had caused both herself and Constance Stevens to suffer. Her pretty face hardened a trifle as she said, in a low voice, "I'm not sorry, eithe
hool and go to college, but she teased and teased to go away to school, so finally he said she might. She left here over two weeks ago. One of the girls received a letter from her last wee
or the way she treated Connie. Let's not talk of her, Irma. It makes me feel cross and horrid, and, of all days, I'd like to be happy to
of this quiet, fair-haired girl, who, with Jerry Ma
ned Muriel Harding's high-pitched voice. Her sarcastic remarks carried farther than she had intended they should, as a sudden hush had fallen upon the stu
and Marjorie in un
oratress or something. Your voice carries a good deal farther than it ought to. Only Miss Merton didn't think it wa
didn't intend she should hear me-but to blame you for it! Th
nothing of the sort, Muriel Harding. My sophomore shoulders are broad enough to beat it. Perhaps she didn't
nd take seats?" Miss Merton's raucous voice broke harshly upon the abashed group of g
nt of Marjorie, and stared resentfully at the rigid figure, so devoid of womanly bea
class in the section of the study hall they were to occupy during the coming year. Marjorie awaited the turn of the sophomores to be assigned to a seat with
to rise. Perhaps she would not notice Mary. If she did not, then Mary could pass with the sophomor
ere in the blue dress," she blared forth. "Y
glance of appeal to Marjorie. The g
clear, young voice, "I brought
sitors to school, Miss Dean," was
her anger, she made courteous reply. "She is not a
," ordered Miss Merton, ignoring Marjorie'
ng Miss Merton out of t
s, Mary," whis
with maddening deliberation, she s
as a faint murmur went up from t
erton took occasion to deliver a sharp lecture on good conduct in general, making several pointed remarks, which caused Marjorie to color hotly. More than
over the girls of her particula
old cranks!" scold
eacher in the world," was
ight to Miss Archer," advised Susan Atwell. "Just see her n
still belligerent Mary, who stood listenin
elp Mary out. Wait f
Jerry. "I never was afraid of M
toward her friend, and st
Miss Merton eyed Marjorie with
direct fashion, "that Miss Raymond saw Miss Archer this
without your assistance. I should greatly prefer that you go on about your own business and leave this matter
fied bow to Miss Merton and, "I will wait for you in the corridor, Mary," wa
to co