ary was plunged into the
depths of humiliation and unhappiness. This alone had been the cause of
the marked change in her that Marjorie had innocently attributed to
Mignon's defection. In her sad little soul there was now no bitterness
against Constance Stevens. Quite by chance she had one day not long past
encountered Jerry Macy in Sargent's, alone. Touched by her woe-begone
air, Jerry had taken pains to draw her out. With her usual shrewdness
the stout girl had discovered the real cause of Mary's depression, and
kindly advised her to have a heart-to-heart talk with Marjorie. Jerry
had also made it a point to inform Mary, so far as she knew the details,
of the trouble over the butterfly pins during Marjorie's freshman year,
and of Mignon's cruel treatment of Constance. Distinctly to Jerry's
credit, she told no one afterward of that chance meeting, yet she
secretly hoped that what she had said would have its effect upon Mary.

Overwhelmed with shame, Mary had left the talkative, stout girl and
dragged herself home, in an agony of humiliation that can be better
imagined than described. She felt that she could never forgive herself
for the ignoble thoughts she had harbored against innocent Constance
Stevens, and she was still more certain that she could never ask either
Marjorie or Constance to forgive _her_. Again and again she had tried to
bring herself to approach Marjorie and humbly sue for pardon. The weight
of her own troubled conscience prevented her from yielding, and thus she
kept her sorrow locked in her aching heart and waited dejectedly for the
day when she must leave the Deans' pleasant home, taking with her
nothing but bitter self-reproach for her own folly.

It was in this black mood that Mary had wandered forth that evening and
straight into the path of the very thing that was destined to bring her
peace. Mignon had hardly driven away when Mary caught the venturesome
youngster in her arms. The boy gave a jubilant little shout as he saw
who held him. Mary, however, was still at a loss regarding the meaning
of what she had seen.

"Every time the cross girl scolds Charlie, you come and get him," was
the joyful exclamation. "She wasn't cross all the time. She gave Charlie
a ride and lots of ice cream. Then she wented away. She said she'd tell
Connie to come and find me. Connie's gone to the the'tre. I wented, too,
but the naughty girl got Charlie."

"Charlie boy, try to tell Mary, where was he when the cros