the quarrel had been
about, Mignon was to blame. Until then she had never quite believed in
the sincerity of Mary's affection for this unscrupulous, headstrong
girl, and it hurt her to see Mary take the estrangement so to heart.

She said as much to Constance Stevens as they walked home from school
together on the Monday following the Easter vacation. To Marjorie the
Easter holidays had been a continuous succession of good times. She had
attended half a dozen parties given by her various schoolmates, and
numerous luncheons and teas. To all these Mary had received invitations
also. She had politely declined them, however, going on long, lonely
walks by day and moping in the living room or her own room by night.

"Somehow," Marjorie confided to Constance, "I never believed Mary could
be so deceived in a person. But she must think a lot of Mignon, or she
wouldn't be so dreadfully sad all the time."

"It's queer," mused Constance. "I don't think she knows to this day the
truth about last year."

"I am sure she doesn't. Mary is really too honorable to stand by
a--a--person that you and I know isn't worthy of loyalty. That sounds
rather hard, especially from one of the reform party. But I can't help
it. I am quite ready to say and mean it, Mignon La Salle hasn't a better
self. She never had one!"

"It hasn't been very pleasant for you this year, has it?" was
Constance's sympathizing question. "It's too bad. After all the nice
things we had planned. Sometimes I think it is better not to make plans.
They never turn out as one hopes they will."

"I know it," rejoined Marjorie with a sigh. "Jerry Macy says that Mary
has something on her mind besides Mignon."

"Perhaps she is sorry that she----" Constance hesitated.

"That we aren't chums any more?" finished Marjorie. "I don't think so.
If she had been truly sorry she would have come to me and said so. I
thought so the day after Mignon's party. Then I heard that they had
quarreled, and I changed my opinion." There was a faint touch of
bitterness in Marjorie's speech. "Suppose we don't talk of it any more.
I wish to forget it, if I can. It doesn't do much good to mourn over
what can't and won't be changed. Did Jerry tell you that Laurie Armitage
has finished his operetta? Professor Harmon is going to have a try-out
of voices in the gymnasium next Saturday morning."

"Laurie told me himself. He brought the score of the operetta to Gray
Gables last night and we tried it ov