d cast aside. But it would be too late.

The moment the two girls left the house for the afternoon session of
school, a blank silence fell upon them. It was broken only by a cool
"Good-bye" from Mary as they separated in the locker room. But during
that silent walk Marjorie had been thinking busily. Hers was a nature
that no amount of disagreeable shocks could dismay for long. No sooner
did a pet ideal totter than she steadied it with patient, tender hands.
True always to the highest, she was laying a foundation that would
weather the stress of years. Now she dwelt not so much upon her own
hurts, but rather on how she should bind up the wounds of her comrades.
What had been obscure was now plain. Mary was jealous of her friendship
with Constance. She had completely misunderstood. If only she, Marjorie,
had known in the beginning! And then there was Mignon. If she had stayed
away from Sanford, all might have been well in time. Mary was determined
to be friends with her. Marjorie knew her friend too well not to believe
that Mary would now cultivate the French girl from sheer obstinacy.
There was just one thing to do. She had said to Mary that she would try
to like Mignon for her sake. She stood ready to keep her promise.
Perhaps, far under her mischief-making exterior, Mignon's better self
lay dormant, waiting for some chance, kindly word or act to awaken it
into life. What was it her General had said about the worst person
having some good in his nature that sooner or later was sure to manifest
itself? How glorious it would be to help Mignon find that better self!
But she could not accomplish much alone. She needed the support of the
girls of her own particular little circle. She was fairly sure they
would help her. But how had they better begin? Suddenly Marjorie's sober
face broke into a radiant smile. She gave a chuckle born of sheer
good-will. "I know the very way," she murmured, half aloud. "If only the
girls will see it, too. But they _must_! It's a splendid plan, and if it
doesn't work it won't be from lack of trying on my part."

CHAPTER XII

THE COMPACT

"DEAR IRMA," wrote Marjorie, the moment she reached her desk,
"will you meet me across the street from school this afternoon?
I have something very important to say to you.

"MARJORIE."

She wrote similar notes to Muriel Harding, Susan Atwell and Jerry Macy,
managing in spite of the watchful eyes of Miss Merton to convey them,