," apologized the frisky lieutenant, giving
the arms to which she clung an affectionate squeeze, "but I simply had
to rejoice a little. Won't Constance be glad? I could never care quite
so much for Constance as I do for Mary, but I like her next best. She's
a dear and we're going to be friends as long as we live."

But clouds have an uncomfortable habit of darkening the clearest skies
and even sworn friendships are not always timeproof.

CHAPTER XVII

MARJORIE MEETS WITH A LOSS

By eight o'clock the following night twenty-eight invitations to
Marjorie Dean's Thanksgiving party were on their way. No one of the
invitations ran the risk of being declined. Marjorie had invited only
those boys and girls of her acquaintance who were quite likely to come
and when the momentous evening arrived they put in twenty-eight joyful
appearances and enjoyed the Deans' hospitality to the full.

But to Constance, who wore her beautiful blue gown and went to the party
under the protection of her father, whose somber eyes gleamed with a
strange new happiness, and old John Roland, whose usually vacant
expression had changed to one of inordinate pride, it was, indeed, a
night to be remembered by the three. Charlie was to remain at home in
the care of a kindly neighbor.

The long living-room had been stripped of everything save the piano, and
the polished hardwood floor was ideal to dance on. Uncle John had
received careful instructions beforehand from both Mr. Stevens and
Constance as to his behavior, and with a sudden flash of reason in his
faded eyes had gravely promised to "be good."

He had kept his word, too, and from his station beside the piano he had
played like one inspired from the moment his violin sang the first magic
strains of the "Blue Danube" until it crooned softly the "Home, Sweet
Home" waltz.

The dancers were wholly appreciative of the orchestra, as their coaxing
applause for more music after every number testified, and before the
evening was over several boys and girls had asked Marjorie if "those
dandy musicians" would play for anyone who wanted them.

"Mother's giving a tea next week, and I'm going to tell her about these
men," the Crane had informed Marjorie.

"Hal and I are going to give a party before long, and we'll have them,
too," Jerry had promised. Lawrence Armitage, who had managed to be found
near Constance the greater part of the evening, insisted on being
introduced to her father, and dur