not been so ready to doubt her chum's loyalty and with a curious
revulsion of feeling she began to long for a reinstatement into her
affections.

But her perfunctory "good night" had cost her more than she dreamed. It
had awakened a tardy resentment in Marjorie's hitherto forgiving heart
that she could not readily efface. Outwardly Marjorie seemed the same.
She returned Mary's greeting pleasantly enough, showing nothing of the
surprise it had given her. Mary was not destined to learn for some time
to come that a reaction had taken place.

Mr. and Mrs. Dean were relieved to find that Marjorie's prediction was
not verified. To all appearances the two girls had definitely resumed
their old, friendly footing. Only Marjorie knew differently, but she did
not intend then or on any future occasion to betray herself, even to her
Captain.

As the winter days glided swiftly along the road to Spring, it was
circulated about among Marjorie's intimate friends that she and Mary had
settled their differences. Keen-eyed Jerry Macy, however, had seen
deeper than her classmates. Although Mary now occasionally walked home
with them or accompanied them to Sargent's, spending considerably less
time with Mignon, Jerry was quick to feel rather than note the slight
reserve Marjorie exhibited toward Mary. "Don't you believe they've made
up," she declared to Irma Linton. "Mary may think they have, but they
haven't. I guess Marjorie's grown tired of Mary's nonsense. I'm glad of
it. She's a silly little goose, I mean Mary, and she's lost more than
she thinks."

It was on a sunny afternoon in late March, however, before Mary was
rudely jolted into the same conclusion. Mignon La Salle was also
possessed of "the seeing eye." Mary was no longer her devoted satellite,
although she still kept up an indifferent kind of friendship with the
French girl. Mignon soon divined the cause of her lagging allegiance.
"You are a little idiot, Mary Raymond, to follow Marjorie Dean about as
you do. She doesn't care a snap for you. She may treat you nicely, but
that's as far as it goes. She cares more for that miserable Stevens girl
in a minute than she cares for _you_ in a whole year. Why can't you let
her alone and chum with some one who appreciates you."

"I don't follow Marjorie about," contested Mary hotly. "I never go
anywhere with her unless she asks me."

"She merely does that through courtesy," shrugged Mignon. "I suppose she
thinks it her duty. She's