who seemed to be
sincere. She unbent slightly and smiled. Mignon returned the smile in
her most amiable fashion.

"Pardon me for a moment." Mignon turned in her seat and began fumbling
in a little leather bag that lay on her desk.

Mary felt a quick, light touch on her arm. Susan Atwell began making
violent signs at her behind Mignon's back. She desisted as suddenly as
she began. The French girl had turned again toward Mary with the quick,
cat-like manner that so characterized all her movements.

"Here is my card," she offered, placing a bit of engraved pasteboard on
Mary's desk.

The latter picked it up and read, "Mignon Adrienne La Salle."

"What a pretty name!" was her soft exclamation.

"I'm glad you like it," beamed Mignon. "But you haven't told me yours."

"I haven't any cards with me," apologized Mary. "My name is Mary
Raymond."

"Have you lived long in Sanford?" inquired Mignon suavely. She had
already decided that a girl who was in sympathy with her on one point
might prove to be worth cultivating.

"Only a short time. My mother is in Colorado for her health and I am
living in Marjorie Dean's home until Mother returns next summer."

Mary's innocent words had an electrical effect on the French girl. Her
heavy brows drew together in a scowl and her dark face set in hard
lines.

"Then that settles it," she said coldly. "You and I can _never_ be
friends." She switched about in her seat with an angry jerk.

Mary leaned forward and touched her on the shoulder. "I don't
understand," she murmured. "Please tell me what you mean."

The French girl swung halfway about. She regarded Mary with narrowed
eyes. Was it possible that Marjorie Dean had never mentioned her to her
friend?

"Hasn't Miss Dean ever spoken to you of me?" she asked abruptly.

Mary shook her head. "No, I am sure I never before heard of you. I don't
know many Sanford girls yet. I have met Miss Atwell and Miss Macy and a
few others who were at Miss Stevens' dance last night."

"So, Miss Stevens is doing social stunts," sneered Mignon. "Quite a
change from last year, I should say. I used to be friends with Susan
Atwell and Jerry Macy, but this Stevens girl made mischief between us
and broke up our old crowd entirely. Your friend, Miss Dean, took sides
with them, too, and helped the thing along. She made a perfect idiot of
herself over Constance Stevens. Oh, well, never mind. I'm not going to
say another word about it. I'm sorry we can't