le talk with you before you go to your
room."

Marjorie complied, drawing a chair close to the fire, and stretching her
cold hands out to the welcome blaze. She was longing to tell all about
the day's pleasures, and was glad of the prospect of a little chat with
Aunt Julia before going to bed.

"Now my dear," began Mrs. Carleton, speaking fast and rather nervously,
"I don't want you to let what I am going to say make you unhappy. I am
not in the least displeased with you, because I am sure you had no
intention of doing anything wrong; I have told Elsie so. But, Marjorie
dear, it is not quite the proper thing for a girl of your age to accept
invitations from strangers without first consulting the people under
whose care she has been placed."

"Oh, Aunt Julia," cried Marjorie, clasping her hands in dismay, while
all the brightness died suddenly out of her face, "I am so sorry! I had
no idea you would object to my going with the Randolphs; I thought you
would be pleased because you were so sorry about leaving me at home.
Mrs. Randolph said she was sure you wouldn't mind."

Mrs. Carleton moved uneasily in her chair, and her eyes did not meet
Marjorie's honest, astonished gaze.

"I am sure it was very kind of Mrs. Randolph to think of giving you so
much pleasure," she said. "I am not displeased with you either,
Marjorie; I am only warning you not to make such a mistake another time.
The Randolphs are merely slight acquaintances of ours, and one doesn't
like being under obligations to strangers, you know. Elsie feels this
quite as strongly as I do."

"Elsie," repeated Marjorie, with a start, "why does she care? Didn't she
want me to go to the game?"

"Nonsense, dear; of course Elsie wanted you to go. She would have been
delighted if only the circumstances had been a little different. Don't
look so distressed, Marjorie; there is really nothing tragic in the
situation. You have done nothing wrong, and I am glad you have had such
a pleasant day, but don't accept another invitation without consulting
either your uncle or me. Now kiss me good-night; I am tired to death and
simply cannot sit up another minute."

Marjorie cried herself to sleep that night for the first time in weeks.
In spite of the memories of her happy day, she was more homesick than
she had been at any time since coming to New York. She was so anxious to
do right; to please her uncle and aunt in every way, and show them how
grateful she was for all they