is mine, and this one,"
she withdrew her arm, and lifting the blue cloud held it out to
Constance, "is yours."

The Mary girl drew back sharply. "I don't know what you mean," she
muttered. "Please don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you. It's your very own, and after I tell you all
about it you'll see just why it happens to be yours."

Seated on the edge of the bed beside Marjorie, the wonderful blue gown
on her lap, the girl who had never owned a party dress before heard the
story of how it happened to be hers. At first she steadily refused its
acceptance, but in the end wily Marjorie persuaded her to "just try it
on," and when she saw herself, for the first time in her
poverty-stricken young life, wearing a real evening gown that glimpsed
her unusually white neck and arms she wavered. So intent was she upon
examining her reflection that she did not notice Marjorie had slipped
from the room, returning with a pair of blue silk stockings and satin
slippers to match. "These go with it," she announced.

"Oh--I--can't," faltered Constance, making a move toward unhooking the
frock.

"Of course you can." Marjorie deposited the stockings and slippers on
the foot of her bed and going over to Constance put both arms around
her. "You are going to have this dress because mother and I want you to.
I can't possibly wear it myself, and it's a shame to lay it away in the
closet until it is all out of style. Please, please take it. You simply
must, for I won't go to the dance unless you do, and you know how
dreadfully I should hate to miss it. I mean what I say, too."

"I'll take it," said Constance, slowly.

Suddenly she slipped from Marjorie's encircling arm and leaned against
the chiffonier, covering her face with her hands.

"Constance!" Marjorie cried out in surprise. "You mustn't cry."

"I--can't--help--it." The words came brokenly. "Ever since I was little
I've dreamed about a blue dress like this. You--are--too--good--to--me.
Nobody--was--ever--good to me before."

It was a quarter to eleven o'clock before Constance, her tears dried,
her face beaming with a new expression of happiness, left the Deans'
house, accompanied by Mr. Dean, who had come in shortly before ten
o'clock and insisted on seeing her safely home.

Later, as she prepared for bed in her bare little room she could not
help wondering why Marjorie had desired her for a best friend, and had
clung to her in spite of the displeasure of certain