thoroughly aroused and flaming. She wished Marjorie had never seen nor
heard of this hateful girl. And to think that Constance had announced
that she was going to give a party in honor of _her_, the very person
she had robbed of her best friend! It was insufferable. What could she
do? If she refused to go, Marjorie and all those girls would wonder. She
could give no reasonable excuse for declining to go at this late day.
She told herself she would rather die than have Marjorie know how deeply
she had hurt her. Oh, well, she was not the first martyr to the cause
of friendship. She would try to bear it. Perhaps, some day, Marjorie,
too, would know the bitterness of being supplanted.

It was an unusually quiet Mary who slipped into her place at luncheon
that day.

"What is the matter, dear?" asked Mrs. Dean, noting the girl's silence.
"Don't you feel well?"

"Oh, I am all right," she made reply, torturing her sober little face
into a smile.

"Mary had troubles of her own this morning, Captain," explained
Marjorie. Then she launched forth into an account of the morning's
happenings.

Mrs. Dean looked her indignation as her daughter's recital progressed.
She had met Miss Merton and disliked her on sight.

"I have no wish to interfere in your school life, Marjorie," she said
with a touch of sternness, when Marjorie had finished, "but I will not
hear of either of you being imposed upon. If Miss Merton continues her
unjust treatment I shall insist that you tell me of it. I shall take
measures to have it stopped."

"Captain won't stand having her army abused," laughed Marjorie.

"At least you must admit that I'm a conscientious officer," was her
mother's reply. "To change the subject, would you like to go shopping
with me this afternoon?"

"Oh, yes," chorused the two. Even Mary forgot her grievances for the
moment. As little girls they had always hailed the idea of shopping with
their beloved captain.

The shopping tour took up the greater part of the afternoon, and it was
after five o'clock when the two started for home.

"No lingering at the dinner table to-night for this army," declared
Marjorie, finishing her dessert in a hurry. "It's almost seven, Mary.
We'll have to hurry upstairs to dress for the dance."

"You didn't apply to me for a leave of absence," reminded Mr. Dean. "You
know the penalty for deserting."

"We've forgotten it, General. You can tell us what it is to-morrow,"
retorted Marjorie. "Come