jorie's
clinging arms.

"Why, Lieutenant, what's the matter? You aren't sick, are you? If you
are, I'm sorry I was so rough. If you're just sleepy, then I'm not. You
needed waking up. It's a quarter to eight now and we'll have to hustle.
Captain let us sleep until the last minute. Now, which are you, sick or
sleepy?"

"Both," returned Mary laconically. "I--that is--my head aches."

"Poor darling. Was Marjorie a naughty girl to tease her when her was so
sick?" Marjorie sought to comfort her chum, but Mary eluded her
sympathetic caress and said almost crossly, "Don't baby me. I--I hate
being babied and you know it."

Marjorie's arms dropped to her sides. "I didn't mean to tease you. I'm
sorry. I'll go down and ask Captain to give you something to cure your
headache." She turned abruptly and left the room, deeply puzzled and
slightly hurt. What on earth ailed Mary?

The moment the door closed Mary pattered into the bathroom and banged
the door. She hurried through her bath and was partly dressed when
Marjorie returned with a little bottle of aspirin tablets. "One of
these will fix up your head," she declared cheerily.

"I don't want it," muttered Mary. "My head is all right now."

"That is what I would call a marvelous recovery," laughed Marjorie. "I
wish Captain's headaches would take wing so easily. You know what
dreadful sick headaches she sometimes has. She had one on the first day
I went to Sanford High, and I had to go alone."

"I remember," nodded Mary carelessly. "That was one of the things you
_did_ write me."

"I wrote you lots of things," retorted Marjorie lightly, failing to
catch the significance of Mary's words. "But now you are here, I don't
have to write them. I can _say_ them."

"Then, why don't you?" was on Mary's tongue, but she did not say it.
Instead, she maintained a half sulky silence, as she walked to the
wardrobe and began fingering the gowns hung there. Selecting a blue
serge dress, made sailor fashion, she slipped into it and began
fastening it as she walked to the mirror. Marjorie stood watching her,
with a half frown. She did not understand this new mood of Mary's. The
Mary she had formerly known had been sunny and light-hearted. The girl
who stood before the mirror, grave and unsmiling, was a stranger.

"I'm ready to go downstairs." Mary turned slowly from the mirror and
walked toward the door. Beneath her quiet exterior, a silent struggle
was going on. Should she speak her mind