ke you almost as well as Connie."

Marjorie's glorious day was over all too soon. She hovered about Mary
with a friendly solicitude that could not be denied. The latter
graciously allowed her the privilege, but behind her pleasant manner
there was a hint of reserve, which did not dawn upon Marjorie until late
that evening. At first she reproached herself for even imagining it, but
as bedtime approached the conviction grew that when twelve o'clock came
Mary would again resume her hostile attitude.

"It is time taps was sounded," reminded Mr. Dean, looking up from his
book, as the grandfather's clock in the living room pointed half past
eleven. Mrs. Dean sat placidly reading a periodical.

"We'll obey you, General, as soon as we've finished our game." Marjorie
looked up from the backgammon board at which she and Mary were seated.
It had always been a favorite game with them and Marjorie had proposed
playing to relieve the curious sensation of apprehension that was
gradually settling down upon her.

It was five minutes to twelve when she put the board away. Mary had
strolled to the living-room door. Pausing for an instant she said, as
though reciting a lesson, "I've had a lovely day. Thank you all for my
presents." Without waiting for replies, she turned and mounted the
stairs. The sound of a door, closed with certain decision, floated down
to the three in the living room.

Marjorie walked slowly to the table, and drawing the flag of truce from
its improvised standard, handed it to her father. "I knew it would end
like that, General," she commented sadly. "I felt it coming all evening.
Just the same it was a splendid plan, and I thank you for it." She
lingered lovingly to kiss her father and mother good night, then marched
to her room with a brave face. But as she passed the door that had once
more been closed against her she vowed within herself that from this
moment forth she would cease to mourn for the "friendship" of a girl who
was so heartless as Mary Raymond.

CHAPTER XXI

THE LAST STRAW

It had been Mary Raymond's firm intention when she closed her door that
Christmas night to resume hostilities the next day. But when she met
Marjorie at breakfast the following morning, her desire for continued
warfare had vanished. Some tense chord within her stubborn soul had
snapped. Looking back on yesterday she realized that it had not been
worth while. Now her proud spirit cried for peace. She wished she had