her very words."

"All right; we'll wait," agreed Jerry. "I'm not crazy about reporting
even Mignon. Ellen can take care of herself, I guess."

So the matter was apparently settled for the time, and the four girls
strolled home discussing the various features of the game.

"How did you like the game, Captain?" she asked, saluting, as an hour
later she entered the living-room, where her mother sat reading.

"Very well, indeed," replied her mother, laying down her magazine.
"Neither Miss Archer nor I understand all the fine points of the game,
but we managed to keep track of most of the plays. By the way, Marjorie,
when you go to school on Monday morning, I wish you to take this
magazine to Miss Archer. It contains an article which I have marked for
her. It is quite in line with a discussion we had this afternoon."

"I'll remember," promised Marjorie, and when Monday morning came she
kept her word, starting for school with the magazine under her arm.

"I'll run up to Miss Archer's office with it after chapel," she decided.

When the morning service was over, Marjorie returned to the study hall,
and obtained Miss Merton's grudging permission to execute her
commission.

"I wish to see Miss Archer," she said shortly, as Marcia Arnold looked
up from her writing just long enough to cast a half insolent glance of
inquiry in her direction.

"You can't see her. She's busy."

The color flew to Marjorie's cheeks at the bold refusal. Her first
impulse was to turn and walk away. She could see Miss Archer later. Then
her natural independence asserted itself, and she determined to stand
her ground at least long enough to discover whether or not Miss Archer
were really too busy to be seen.

"Then I'll wait here until she is at liberty."

Marcia frowned and seemed on the verge of further unpleasantness when
the sound of a buzzer from the inner office sent her hurrying toward it.
As she opened the door, Marjorie caught a fleeting glimpse of two
persons; one was Miss Archer, her face set and stern, the other Mignon
La Salle, her black eyes blazing with satisfaction.

"Oh!" gasped Marjorie, remembering Mignon's threat, "she is reporting
poor Ellen."

The door swung open again and the secretary glided past her and out into
the corridor with the peculiar sliding gait that had caused Jerry to
liken her to a "nice, wriggly snake."

"She is going to bring Ellen here," guessed Marjorie.

Sure enough, within five minutes Marcia