was there, and another boy--and they hated to
go back to Cambridge--and it all seemed perfectly harmless--and Milly
said it was perfectly all right, and that Miss Leland wouldn't care a
bit--and that she had often done it. I hadn't any idea--until I
thought about you, and I knew you wouldn't like it. But I didn't think
about that until we were coming home. But Milly just laughed."

"What did Miss Leland say to you?"

"She--she was furious. She said that she was ashamed of me, and that
she was going to write to Mother--and that it was a cheap, common thing
to do."

Nancy's eyes blazed. For a moment she sat perfectly still, breathing
sharply, evidently trying to conquer her temper. Then she said in a
quiet tone:

"She had no business to say that to you. I'm going to speak to her
after dinner."

"Oh, don't, Nancy," implored Alma, timidly. "It's all right now. I--I
don't want you to say anything to Miss Leland."

"Well, she should have been ashamed of herself to say that to you. She
is nothing but a horrid old snob--I'll wager she thought twice over
everything she said to Mildred." Nancy's eyes were still fiery. She
was beginning to taste the humiliation of having to submit to the
tyranny of snobs. If she went to Miss Leland it would end most likely
by their having, for the sake of their pride, to pack up and go home.
And she felt that she had no right to do anything that would so wound
her mother.

"Alma, dearest, I want to say something to you--please don't you be
angry with me now. Please, dearest. You know that I haven't a single
thought that isn't for your interest--and that I wouldn't for anything
on earth try to take away from you anything that was really for your
good." She paused, waiting for Alma to say something, but her sister
was silent, and the room was too dim now for her to read the expression
on Alma's face.

"I think that you have already seen for yourself that there is danger
in a friendship where one person lacks a--well, a very keen sense of
honor, and the other lacks judgment. I know you don't want to make any
more mistakes--you have been very unhappy over a small one, and unless
you are wise, big ones may follow."

"You mean--you want me to--to not be friends with Mildred?"

"I want you only to be independent, dear, so that you won't be afraid
to do what you know is right and wise, even if she laughs at you and
coaxes you. I don't like to criticize Mildred to you if you