ile the brilliant procession
circled the gymnasium a lively guessing went on as to who was who in
Fairyland.

Mother Goose led the march with the Brave Little Tailor, who frisked
along in high glee and executed weird and wonderful steps for the
edification of his aged partner and the rest of the company in general.

"Isn't it great, though," commented Aladdin to his partner, who was none
other than Snow White. "I know who you are. I'm sure I do. If I guess
correctly will you tell me?"

Snow White nodded her curly head.

"All right, here goes. You are Marjorie Dean."

"I'm so glad you guessed right the first time," declared Snow White in a
muffled voice from behind her mask. "I've been perfectly crazy to talk
to someone. It's a gorgeous party, isn't it, Hal?"

"The nicest one the Sanford girls have ever given the boys," returned
Hal Macy, warmly. "You'll give me the next dance, won't you, Marjorie?"

"Of course," acquiesced Marjorie. "I think the grand march is going to
end in a minute."

She danced the first dance with Hal. After that the Youth with the Magic
Fiddle claimed her, and when he asked in a tone of deep concern, "When
do you think Constance will be home, Marjorie?" she had no difficulty in
recognizing Lawrence Armitage.

"I don't know, Laurie," she said rather confusedly. "I--I haven't heard
from her."

"She wrote me one letter," declared Laurie, gloomily. "I answered it,
but she hasn't written me a line since."

"Then you know----" began Marjorie. She did not finish.

"Know what?" asked Laurie, impatiently.

"Nothing," was the answer.

"That's just it!" exclaimed the boy. "I know exactly nothing about
Constance. I thought you'd be sure to know something."

Just then the dance came to an end. Jack and the Beanstalk, clad in
doublet and hose, and decorated with long green tendrils of that
fruitful vine, his famous hatchet slung over his shoulder by a stout
leather thong, claimed her for the next dance, and she had no time to
exchange further words with Laurie.

The moment of unmasking was to follow the ninth dance. The eighth was
just about to begin. Marjorie caught sight of a huge lumbering figure
in princely garments heading in her direction, and turning fled toward
the dressing-room. She was quite sure of the prince's identity, which
was that of a youth whom she particularly disliked. Just as she reached
the sheltering door a familiar voice called out a low, cautious,
"Marjorie." Turnin