non, because it
wouldn't be very nice to discredit someone you were trying to help.
Don't you agree with me?"

"I suppose I must. But what of Constance?"

"That's the part that bothers me," was Marjorie's troubled reply. "I'm
going to write her all about it. I know she'll be with us. She's too
splendid to hold spite. I think it would be all right to invite Mignon
to my party, at any rate. But there's just one thing about it, Captain,
if Connie objects, then the reform will have to go on without me. You
understand the way I feel, don't you?"

"Yes. I believe you owe it to Constance to respect her wishes. She was
the chief sufferer at Mignon's hands."

The confidential talk came to a sudden end with the ringing of the
doorbell.

"It's Mary." Marjorie sprang to her feet. "I'll let her in."

Hurrying to the door, Marjorie opened it to admit Mary Raymond. She
entered with an air of sulkiness that brought dread to Marjorie's heart.

"Oh, Mary, where were you?" she asked, trying to appear ignorant of her
chum's forbidding aspect.

"I was with Mignon La Salle," returned Mary briefly. "Will you come
upstairs with me, please?"

"I'd love to, Lieutenant Raymond. Thank you for your kind invitation."
Marjorie assumed a gaiety she did not feel.

Without further remark Mary stolidly mounted the stairs. Marjorie
followed her in a distinctly worried state of mind. The quarrel was
going to begin over again. She was sure of that.

Mary stalked past the half-open door of Marjorie's room and paused
before her own. "I'd rather talk to you in _my_ room, if you please,"
she said distantly.

"All right," agreed Marjorie, with ready cheerfulness. She intended to
go on ignoring her chum's hostile attitude until she was forced to do
otherwise.

Mary closed the door behind them and faced Marjorie with compressed
lips. The latter met her offended gaze with steady eyes.

"I heard you and your friends making fun of Miss La Salle this
afternoon, and I am going to say right here that I think you were all
extremely unkind. She heard you, too. You ought to be ashamed of
yourself, Marjorie Dean!"

"Why, I don't remember making fun of Mignon!" exclaimed Marjorie. "What
do you mean?"

"Then your memory is very short," sneered Mary. "But I might have
expected you to deny it."

It was Marjorie's turn to grow indignant. "How can you accuse me of not
telling the truth?" she flashed. "I did not----" She stopped, flushing
deeply. She recall