nd for the rest of the evening she put aside all doubts and fears, and
danced as only sweet and seventeen can.

CHAPTER VIII

THE LATEST SOPHOMORE ARRIVAL

Though the evening of the dance had been deceitfully clear and balmy,
dark clouds banked the autumn sky before morning and the day broke in a
downpour of rain. It was a doubly dreary morning to poor little Mary
Raymond and over and over again Longfellow's plaintive lines,

"Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary,"

repeated themselves in her brain. Yes, rain had indeed fallen into her
life. The bitter rain of false friendship. All the days must from now on
be dark and dreary. Last night she had danced the hours away, secure in
the thought that Marjorie would not fail her. And Marjorie had spoken no
word of explanation. During the drive home she had talked gaily of the
dance and of the boys and girls who had attended it. She had related
bright bits of freshman history concerning them, but on the subject of
Constance Stevens and her affairs she had been mute. Mary fancied she
had purposely avoided the subject. In this respect she was quite
correct. Marjorie, still a little disturbed over her promise to
Constance, had tried to direct Mary's mind to other matters. Deeply
hurt, rather than jealous, Mary had listened to Marjorie in silence. She
managed to make a few comments on the dance, and pleading that she was
too sleepy for a night-owl talk, had kissed Marjorie good night rather
coldly and hurried to her room. Stopping only to lock the door, she had
thrown herself on her bed in her pretty evening frock and given vent to
long, tearless sobs that left her wide awake and mourning, far into the
night. It was, therefore, not strange that lack of sleep, coupled with
her supposed dire wrongs, had caused her to awaken that morning in a
mood quite suited to the gloom of the day.

A vigorous rattling of the door knob caused her to spring from her bed
with a half petulant exclamation.

"Let me in, Mary," called Marjorie's fresh young voice from the hall.
"Whatever made you lock your door? I guess you were so sleepy you didn't
know what you were about."

Mary turned the key and opened the door with a jerk. Marjorie pounced
upon her like a frolicsome puppy. Wrapping her arms around her chum, she
whirled her about and half the length of the room in a wild dance.

"Let me alone, please." Mary pulled herself pettishly from Mar