, and in her anger Marjorie had secretly agreed with
the stout girl. Suppose Constance had taken it. What if she were one of
those persons one reads of in books whom continued poverty had made
dishonest, or perhaps she was a kleptomaniac? The last idea, though
unpleasant to contemplate, was not so repugnant to her as the first; but
she did not believe it to be true. Constance's partial confession,
coupled with her ready tears, was positive proof that she had been
conscious of her act of theft. There was only one other theory left; she
had found the pin and succumbed to the temptation of keeping it. Yet
Constance had always averred that she did not care for jewelry, and
would not wear it if she possessed it.

Marjorie went over these suppositions again and again, but each time her
theories ended with the bitter fact that, in spite of her tears,
Constance had kept her ill-gotten bauble.

The vacation which had promised so much, and which she had happily
supposed would be all too short, seemed endless. During the long days
that followed she received no word from the girl in the little gray
house. If Constance had received her letter, she made no sign, and this
served to add to Marjorie's belief in her unworthiness.

Jerry Macy's New Year's party proved a welcome relief from the hateful
experience through which she had passed. Although invited, Constance
was not among the merry gathering of young people, and Jerry loudly
lamented the fact. Mr. Stevens and Uncle John Roland, who furnished the
music for the dancing, greeted Marjorie with affectionate regard. It was
evident that they knew nothing of what had transpired. Constance was
ill, her father reported, but hoped to be able to return to school on
Tuesday. He thanked Marjorie for her remembrance of him and Charlie, and
Uncle John forgot himself and repeated everything after him with
grateful nods and smiles.

During the evening Marjorie frequently found herself near the two
musicians, and Lawrence Armitage, secretly disappointed because of
Constance's absence, also did considerable loitering in their immediate
vicinity. If the troubled little lieutenant had had nothing on her mind,
she would have spent a most delightful evening, for the Macy's enormous
living-room had been transformed into a veritable ballroom, where the
guests might dance without bumping elbows at every turn, while Hal and
Jerry were the most hospitable entertainers.

If Constance's father and foste