Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore

"Only a short time. My mother is in Colorado for her health and I am living in Marjorie Dean's home until Mother returns next summer."

Mary's innocent words had an electrical effect on the French girl. Her heavy brows drew together in a scowl and her dark face set in hard lines.

"Then that settles it," she said coldly. "You and I can never be friends." She switched about in her seat with an angry jerk.

Mary leaned forward and touched her on the shoulder. "I don't understand," she murmured. "Please tell me what you mean."

The French girl swung halfway about. She regarded Mary with narrowed eyes. Was it possible that Marjorie Dean had never mentioned her to her friend?

"Hasn't Miss Dean ever spoken to you of me?" she asked abruptly.

Mary shook her head. "No, I am sure I never before heard of you. I don't know many Sanford girls yet. I have met Miss Atwell and Miss Macy and a few others who were at Miss Stevens' dance last night."

"So, Miss Stevens is doing social stunts," sneered Mignon. "Quite a change from last year, I should say. I used to be friends with Susan Atwell and Jerry Macy, but this Stevens girl made mischief between us and broke up our old crowd entirely. Your friend, Miss Dean, took sides with them, too, and helped the thing along. She made a perfect idiot of herself over Constance Stevens. Oh, well, never mind. I'm not going to say another word about it. I'm sorry we can't be friends. I'm sure we'd get along famously together. It is impossible, though. Miss Dean wouldn't let you."

Mary suddenly sat very erect. She had listened in amazement to Mignon's recital. Could she believe her ears? Had her hitherto-beloved Marjorie been guilty of trouble-making? And all for the sake of Constance Stevens. Marjorie must indeed care a great deal for her. She had not been mistaken, then, in her belief that she had been supplanted in her chum's heart. And now Mignon was suggesting that Marjorie would not allow her to be friends with the girl whom she had wronged. Mary did not stop to consider that there are always two sides to a story. Swayed by her resentment against Constance, she preferred to believe anything which she might hear against her.

"Please understand, once and for all, that Marjorie has nothing to say about whoever I choose to have for a friend," she said with decision. "I hope I am free to do as I please. I shall be very glad to know you better, Miss La Salle, and I am sorry that you have been so badly treated."

The ringing of the first recitation-bell broke in upon the conversation.

"Oh, gracious, I haven't looked at the bulletin board. Excuse me, Miss Raymond. I'll see you later and we'll have a nice long talk. I'm sure I shall be pleased to have you for a friend."

"Are you going to recite geometry in this first section?" asked Mary eagerly. The students were already filing out of the great room.

"Let me see." Mignon consulted the bulletin board. "Why, yes, I might as well."

"Oh, splendid!" glowed Mary. "Then you can show me the way to the geometry classroom."

"Delighted, I'm sure," returned Mignon. Her black eyes sparkled with triumph. At last she had found a way to even her score with Marjorie Dean. With almost uncanny shrewdness she had divined what Marjorie herself had not discovered. This blue-eyed baby of a girl, for Mignon mentally characterized her as such, was jealous of Marjorie's friendship with the Stevens girl. Very well. She would take a hand and help matters along. Of course there was a strong chance that it might all come to nothing. Marjorie might take Mary in charge the moment school was over and tell her a few things. Yet that was hardly possible. Much as she hated the brown-eyed girl who had worsted her at every point, in her own cowardly heart lurked a respect for Marjorie's high standard of honor. So far Mary knew nothing against her. Perhaps she would never know. Perhaps if Marjorie and Jerry and Irma tried to prejudice Mary against her, the girl would rebel and send them about their business. She had looked stupidly obstinate when she said, "I hope I am free to do as I please." Mignon smiled maliciously as she walked down the long aisle ahead of Mary.

Marjorie had risen from her seat at the sound of the first bell. Now she gazed anxiously up the aisle toward Mary's seat. She looked relieved as she saw her chum approaching. She bowed coldly to Mignon as she passed. "Oh, Mary," she said, "I was looking for you. If you are going to recite geometry now, then please don't go. Wait and recite in my section. You know, we said we'd recite it together."

Mary's blue eyes glowed resentfully. "I've made up my programme," she answered with cool defiance. "I can't change it now. Miss La Salle is going to show me the way to the geometry classroom. I'll see you later."

Without waiting for a reply she marched on, leaving Marjorie to stare after her with troubled eyes.

CHAPTER X

THE VALLEY OF MISUNDERSTANDING

For a brief instant Marjorie continued to stare after the retreating form of her chum, oblivious to the steady stream of girls passing by her. Then, seized with a sudden idea, she slipped into her seat and hastily consulted the bulletin board. The ringing of the third bell found her hurrying from the aisle toward the door. That brief survey of the schedule had resulted in an entire change of her programme. She had decided to recite geometry in the morning section. It meant giving up the cherished last hour in the afternoon which she had reserved for study. She would have to recite Latin at that time. Well, that did not matter so much. Reciting geometry in the same section with Mary was what counted. She had experienced a curious feeling of alarm as she had watched Mary and Mignon La Salle disappear through the big doorway side by side. Mignon was the last person she had supposed Mary would meet. To be sure, there was nothing particularly alarming in their meeting. As yet they were comparative strangers to each other. She had noted that Miss Merton had assigned the French girl to the seat in front of Mary. It was, therefore, quite probable that Mary had inquired the way to the geometry classroom and Mignon had volunteered to conduct her to it.

Marjorie's sober face lightened a little as she hastened down the corridor to the geometry room. Miss Nelson, the instructor in mathematics, was on the point of closing the door as she hurriedly approached. She smiled as she saw the pretty sophomore, and continued to hold the door open until Marjorie had crossed the threshold. The latter gave an eager glance about the room. The classrooms were provided with rows of single desks similar to those in the study hall. Mary was occupying one of them well toward the front of the room. Directly ahead of her sat the French girl. On one of the back seats was Jerry Macy, glaring in her most savage manner, her angry eyes fixed on the black, curly head of the girl she despised.

There was no vacant seat near Mary. Marjorie noted all these facts in that one comprehensive glance. It also seemed to her that the French girl's face wore an expression of mocking triumph. And was it her imagination, or had Mary glanced up as she entered and then turned away her eyes? What did it all mean? Marjorie took the nearest vacant seat at hand, the prey of many emotions. Then, as Miss Nelson stepped forward to address the class, she resolutely put away all personal matters and, with the fine attention to the business of study which had endeared her to her various teachers during her freshman year, she strove to center her troubled mind on what Miss Nelson was saying.

After a short preliminary talk on the importance of the study the class was about to begin, Miss Nelson proceeded to the business of registering her pupils and giving out the text books. Miss Nelson laid particular stress on the thorough learning of all definitions pertaining to the study in hand. "You must know these definitions so well that you could say them backward if I requested it," she emphasized. "They will be of greatest importance in your work to come." Then she heartlessly gave out several pages of them for the advance lesson. The rest of the period she spent in going over and explaining these same definitions in her usual thorough manner, ending with the stern injunction that she expected a letter-perfect recitation on the following morning.

"Miss Nelson doesn't want much," grumbled Jerry Macy in Irma Linton's ear, as they filed out of class at the ringing of the bell which ended the period. Then, before Irma had time to reply, she continued: "What do you think of Mignon? Isn't it a shame she's back again? And did you see her march in here with Mary Raymond? It's a pretty sure thing that neither of them knows who is who in Sanford. I suppose Mary, poor innocent, asked her the way to the classroom. Where was Marjorie all that time, I wonder? I'll bet you a box of Huyler's that they won't walk into geometry again to-morrow morning. Hurry up, there's Marjorie just ahead of us with Mary now. The fair Mignon has vanished. I can see her away ahead of them. I guess Marjorie didn't know who piloted Mary into class. She came in last, you know."

Irma laid a detaining hand on Jerry's arm.

"Oh, wait until after school, Jerry," she counseled. This quiet, unobtrusive girl was a keen observer. She had noted Marjorie's half-troubled expression as she entered the room. The suspicion that Marjorie knew and was not pleased had already come to her.

"All right, I will. Wish school was out now. Those geometry definitions make me tired. I'm worn out already and school hasn't fairly begun yet. I hate mathematics. Wouldn't look at a geometry if I could graduate without it."

But while Jerry was anathematizing mathematics, Marjorie was saying earnestly to Mary, whom she had joined at the door, "I am so sorry I didn't come back to your seat in the study hall before the first bell rang. I really ought to have asked permission to do so, but I was afraid Miss Merton would say 'no.' She never loses a chance to be horrid to me. When you said you were going to recite in this section I hurried and changed my programme to make things come right for us."

Marjorie's earnest little speech, so full of apparent good will, brought a quick flush of contrition to Mary's cheeks. She experienced a swift spasm of regret for her bitter suspicion of Marjorie. Her tense face softened. Why not unburden herself to her chum now and find relief from her torture of doubt?

"Marjorie," she began, laying her hand lightly on her friend's arm, "I wish you would tell me something. Miss La Salle said that Constance Stevens – "

"Mary!" Marjorie's sunny face had suddenly grown very stern. "I am sorry to have to speak harshly of any girl in Sanford High, but as your chum I feel it my duty to ask you to have nothing to do with Mignon La Salle, or pay the slightest attention to her. She made us all very unhappy last year, particularly Constance and myself. I can't help saying it, but I am sorry that she has come back to Sanford. I understood that she was at boarding school. I am sure I wish she had stayed there." Marjorie spoke with a bitterness quite foreign to her generous nature.

Mary's lips tightened obstinately as she listened. Her brief impulse toward a frank understanding died with Marjorie's emphatic utterance. She was inwardly furious at her chum's sharp interruption.

"I am very well aware that you would stand up for Miss Stevens, whether she were in the right or in the wrong," she said with cold sarcasm. "I've been seeing that ever since I came to Sanford. But just because she is perfect in your eyes is not reason why I should think so. For my part, I like Miss La Salle. She was awfully sweet to me this morning, and I don't think it is nice in you to talk about her behind her back."

In the intensity of the moment both girls had stopped short in the corridor, oblivious of the passing students. Mary's flashing blue eyes fixed Marjorie's amazed brown ones in an angry gaze.

"Why, Ma-a-ry!" stammered Marjorie. "What is the matter? I don't understand you." Her bewilderment served only to increase the rancor that had been smouldering in Mary's heart. Now it burst forth in a fury of words.

"Don't pretend, Marjorie Dean. You know perfectly well what I mean. It isn't necessary for me to tell you, either. When I came to Sanford to live with you I thought I'd be the happiest girl in the world because I was going to live at your house and go to school with you. If I had known as much when Father and I came to see you as I know now – well, I wouldn't – ever – have come back again!" Her anger-choked tones faltered. She turned away her head. Then pulling herself sharply together, she turned and hurried down the corridor.

For a second Marjorie stood rooted to the spot. Could she believe her ears? Was it really Mary, her soldier chum, with whom she had stood shoulder to shoulder for so many years, who had thus arraigned her? Her instant of inaction past, she darted down the corridor after Mary. But the latter passed into the study hall before she could overtake her. She could do nothing now to straighten the tangle in which they had so suddenly become involved until the morning session of school was over. She glanced anxiously toward Mary's seat the moment she stepped across the threshold of the study hall, only to see her friend in earnest conversation with Mignon La Salle. An angry little furrow settled on her usually placid brow. Mignon had lost no time in living up to her reputation. Mary must be rescued from her baleful influence at once. When they reached home that day she would tell her chum the whole story of last year. Once Mary learned Mignon's true character she would see matters in a different light. But what had the French girl said about Constance? If only she had held her peace and not interrupted Mary. Even as a little girl Marjorie remembered how hard it had been, once Mary was angry, to discover the cause. In spite of her usual good-nature she was unyieldingly stubborn. When, at rare intervals, she became displeased or hurt over a fancied grievance, she would nurse her anger for days in sulky silence.

"I'll tell her all about last year the minute we get into the house this noon," resolved Marjorie. "When she knows how badly Mignon behaved toward Connie – " The little girl drew a sharp breath of dismay. Into her mind flashed her recent promise to Constance Stevens. She could tell Mary nothing until she had permission to do so. That meant that for the day, at least, she must remain mute, for Constance was not in school that morning, nor would she be in during the day. She had received special permission from Miss Archer to be excused from lessons while her foster father was at Gray Gables.

It was a very sober little girl who wended her way to the French class, her next recitation. Out of an apparently clear sky the miserable set of circumstances frowned upon her dawning sophomore year. But it must come right. She would go to Gray Gables that very afternoon and ask Constance to release her from her promise. Connie would surely be willing to do so, when she knew all. Comforted by this thought, Marjorie brightened again.

"Bon jour, Mademoiselle Dean," greeted the cheerful voice of Professor Fontaine as she entered his classroom. "It is with a great plaisure that I see you again. Let us 'ope that you haf not forgottaine your French, I trost you haf sometimes remembered la belle langue during your vacation." The little man beamed delightedly upon Marjorie.

"I am afraid I have forgotten a great deal of it, Professor Fontaine." Marjorie spoke with the pretty deference that she always accorded this long-suffering professor, whose strongly accented English and foreign eccentricities made him the subject of many ill-timed jests on the part of his thoughtless pupils. "I'm going to study hard, though, and it will soon come back to me."

"Ah! These are the words it makes happiness to hear," he returned amiably. "Some day, when you haf learned to spik the French as the English, you will be glad that you haf persevered."

"I'm sure I shall," smiled Marjorie. Then, as several entering pupils claimed the little man's attention, she passed on and took a vacant seat at the back of the room.

Professor Fontaine had begun to address the class when the door opened and Mignon La Salle sauntered in. She threw a quick, derisive glance at his back, which caused several girls to giggle, then strolled calmly to a seat. A shade of annoyance clouded the instructor's genial face. He eyed his countrywoman severely for an instant, then went on with his speech.

Marjorie received little benefit that morning from the professor's gallant efforts to impress the importance of the study of his language on the minds of his class. Her thoughts were with Mary and what she had best say to conciliate her. She had as yet no inkling of the truth. She did not dream that jealousy of Constance had prompted Mary's outburst. She believed that the whole trouble lay in whatever Mignon had told Mary.

She was more hurt than surprised when at the last period in the morning she failed to find Mary in the chemistry room. Of course she might have expected it. Nothing would be right until she had chased away the black clouds of misunderstanding that hung over them. Still, it grieved her to think that Mary had not trusted her enough to weigh her loyalty against the gossip of a stranger.

The hands of the study hall clock, pointing the hour of twelve, brought relief to the worried sophomore. The instant the closing bell rang she made for the locker room. It would be better to wait for Mary there, rather than in the corridor. If Mary's mood had not changed, she preferred not to run the risk of a possible rebuff in so prominent a place. There were too many curious eyes ready to note their slightest act. It would be dreadful if some lynx-eyed girl were to mark them and circulate a report that they were quarreling.

Arrived at the locker-room, she opened her locker and took out her wraps. A faint gasp of astonishment broke from her. Only one rain-coat, one hat and one pair of rubbers were there, where at the beginning of the morning there had been two. Mary Raymond's belongings were gone.

CHAPTER XI

CHOOSING HER OWN WAY

Marjorie stood staring at her locker as one in a dream.

"Hurry up, Marjorie!" Jerry Macy's loud, matter-of-fact tones broke the spell. Behind her were Irma Linton and Susan Atwell. The faces of the three were alive with suppressed excitement. Jerry caught sight of the tell-tale locker and emitted an indignant snort.

"Mary took her advice, Susie! If I were the President of the United States I'd have that Mignon La Salle deported to the South Sea Islands, or Kamchatka, or some place where she couldn't get back in a hurry. It would be a good deal farther than boarding school, I can just tell you," she ended with an angry sputter.

Marjorie faced the battery of indignant young faces. "What is the trouble, girls?" She tried to keep her voice steady, though she was at the point of tears.

"What's the matter with your friend, Mary Raymond, Marjorie?" continued Jerry in a slightly lower key. "Has she gone suddenly crazy or – or – " Jerry hesitated. She could not voice the other question which rose to her lips.

"Girls," Marjorie viewed her friends with brave, direct eyes, "you know something that I don't about Mary. What is it?"

"It's about Mignon," blurted Jerry. "Susie says that the minute she landed in her seat she began talking to Mary."

"I made signs to Mary to pay no attention to her," broke in Susan Atwell, "but she didn't understand what I meant and I couldn't explain, with Mignon sitting right there. The next thing I saw, they were walking down the aisle together as though they'd known each other all their lives."

"Yes, and they came into geometry together, too," supplemented Jerry. "But that's not the worst. Tell Marjorie what you overheard, Susie."

"Well," began Susan, looking important, "when I came back to the study hall just before the last class was called, they were both there ahead of me. Just as I was going to sit down at my desk I heard Mignon tell Mary she'd love to have her share her locker. Mary was looking awfully sober and pretty cross, too, as though she were mad about something. I heard her say, 'How can I get my wraps?' and Mignon said, 'Go to Marcia Arnold and see if you can borrow Miss Stevens' key for a minute. If she hasn't come back to school yet, very likely Marcia has it. Tell her you want to take something from it and don't care to bother Miss Dean. You can easily do it, because you haven't a recitation at this hour. I'd get it for you, but I haven't any good reason for asking her for it.' I couldn't hear what Mary said, but she left her seat and I saw her stop at Miss Merton's desk. Miss Merton nodded her head and Mary went on out of the study hall. Mignon saw me looking after her and smiled that hateful smile of hers. I was so cross I made a face at her. Then the third bell rang and I had to go to class. I wasn't sure whether Mary did as Mignon told her to do until we saw you staring into your locker and Jerry called my attention to it."

Marjorie listened gravely to Susan's recital. She stood surveying the three girls in silence.

"What has happened, Marjorie?" questioned Jerry impatiently. "Or isn't it any of our business? If it isn't, then forget that I asked you."

"Girls," Marjorie's clear voice trembled a little, "I think I'd better tell you about it. At first I thought I couldn't bear to tell anyone, but as long as you all know something of what happened to Connie and I last year, you might as well know this, too. Miss Archer made a remark to me about our misunderstanding yesterday when Mary was with me. Mary asked me afterward what she meant. I wanted to tell her, but I didn't feel as though I had the right to, until I asked Connie if I could. I was going to ask her last night, but before I had a chance she asked me not to tell Mary about it. She was afraid Mary might not understand and – and blame her. Of course, I knew that Mary wouldn't mind in the least, but Connie seemed so worried that I promised I wouldn't."

Jerry Macy's frown deepened. Susan Atwell made a faint gesture of consternation, while Irma Linton looked distressed and sympathetic.

"I thought perhaps Mary would forget about Constance," went on Marjorie. "I never dreamed that Mignon was coming back, let alone she and Mary becoming friendly. I saw them go down the aisle to geometry class together and followed them. You see, Mary and I had planned to recite in the same section. I asked her to wait and recite later, but she wouldn't. Then I changed my hour so as to be in her class. After class I caught up with her. She began to tell me something about what Mignon had said of Connie. It made me so cross that I interrupted her, almost before she had started. I told her she must have nothing to say to Mignon and – she – I guess I hurt her feelings, for she walked off and – left – me." Marjorie ended with a half sob. She turned her face to the locker and leaned against it. The tears that she had bravely forced back now came thick and fast.

"What a shame!" burst forth Jerry. "Don't cry, dear. We'll straighten things out for you. I'll go to Mary my own self and give her Mignon's history in a few well chosen words." She patted the shoulder of the weeping girl.

"You might know that Mignon would bring trouble, hateful girl," was Susan's indignant cry. "Never mind, we'll fix her."

"I'll do all I can to help you, Marjorie," soothed Irma, who was known throughout the school as a peace-maker.

With a long, quivering sigh Marjorie turned slowly and faced her friends.

"You are very sweet to me, every one of you," she said gratefully, "but, girls, you mustn't say a word. I promised Connie, and I'll keep my word until she releases me from that promise. I'm going over to see her to-night to ask her to do that very thing. She'll say 'yes,' I know. Then I can tell Mary and it will be all right. I'm sorry I made such a baby of myself, but Mary and I have been chums for years – and – " Her voice broke again.

Jerry wound her plump arms about the girl she adored. "You poor kid," she comforted slangily. "If you must cry, cry on my shoulder. It's nice and fat and not half so hard as that old locker."

"You are a ridiculous Jerry," Marjorie laughed through her tears. "There, I feel better now. I'm not going to cry another tear. Are my eyes very red? I don't care to have the public gape at my grief. Come on, children. It must be long after twelve. I suppose Mary is home by this time. Naturally she wouldn't wait for me," she added wistfully.