MARY'S DISTURBING DISCOVERY
Once outside the study hall Marjorie Dean's proud manner left her. Her
recent joy in returning to high school gave place to a feeling of deep
dejection. Everything had certainly gone wrong. She had had so many
pleasant little thrills of anticipation that she had quite forgotten
Miss Merton and the teacher's unreasoning dislike for her, which she had
never taken pains to conceal. Muriel's injudicious remarks had made a
bad matter worse. Marjorie knew that from now on she would have to be
doubly on her guard. It was evident that Miss Merton intended to take
her to task whenever the slightest opportunity presented itself.
Marjorie even had her suspicions that Miss Merton had known that it was
Muriel instead of herself who had uttered those distinctly unflattering
words.
"I'll have to be very careful not to offend Miss Merton," she ruminated
gloomily, as she stood waiting for Mary, her eyes fastened on the big
study-hall door. Then her thoughts switched from Miss Merton to
Constance Stevens. Why hadn't Connie come to school? Surely she could
not be ill. Perhaps Charlie was sick.
The opening of the study-hall door interrupted her worried reflections.
Mary emerged from the hall, looking like a young thundercloud. She
closed the door after her with a resounding bang, which conveyed more
than words.
"Of all the hateful old tyrants!" she exclaimed, as she hurried toward
Marjorie. "I despise her. How dared she treat you so?"
"Oh, never mind," soothed Marjorie. "Let us forget her. Tell me, are you
or are you not a sophomore? Or must we go to Miss Archer to straighten
things?"
"I'm a sophomore all right enough," said Mary grimly. "I told her what
Miss Archer said, and after that she treated me more civilly. Such a
teacher is a disgrace to a school. Why is she so bitter against you,
Marjorie?"
Marjorie shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. She has always acted
like that toward me. It's just a natural dislike, I suppose. Sometimes,
after a teacher has taught school a great many years, she takes sudden
likes and dislikes. I've been in her black books since my very first day
in Sanford High."
"Poor old Lieutenant." Mary patted Marjorie's hand with sympathetic
affection.
"Oh, it doesn't matter. I don't really care much. There are so many nice
teachers here who _do_ like me that I'm not going to worry over Miss
Merton. Come along." She linked her arm in Mary's. "The girls will be
waiting for us outside. We are all going down to Sargent's for ice
cream. Then we'll go home and report to Captain. After luncheon, I think
we had better walk over to Gray Gables. I am afraid Connie or, perhaps,
little Charlie is sick. You know Connie promised us, when we were there
on Friday, that she'd see us at school."
Mary's face clouded. "I--I think I won't go to Gray Gables with you. I
must write to mother. Besides, you and Constance may wish to be by
yourselves."
Marjorie's brown eyes opened wide. "Why should we?" she asked. "You know
you are always first with me. I haven't any secrets from you."
Mary's face brightened. Perhaps she had been too hasty in her
conclusions. "I wish you would tell me all about yourself and
Constance," she said slowly. "You promised you would."
"Well, I will," began Marjorie. Then she paused and flushed slightly. It
had suddenly come to her that perhaps Constance would not care to have
Mary know of the clouds of suspicion that had hung so heavily over her
freshman year. "I'd love to tell you about it now, Mary, but I think I
had better ask Constance first if she is willing for me to do so. You
see, it concerns her more than me. I am almost sure she wouldn't mind,
but I'd rather be perfectly fair and ask her first. You know Captain and
General have always said to us, 'Never break a confidence.'"
A hurt look crept into Mary's face. "Oh, never mind," she managed to
say with a brave assumption of indifference. "I don't wish to know about
it if you don't care to tell me."
"But I _do_ care to tell you, and I will if Connie says I may," assured
Marjorie earnestly.
Mary had no time for further remark. They had reached the double
entrance doors to the building and were hailed by a crowd of girls at
the foot of the steps.
"Oh, Connie," Marjorie Dean cried out delightedly. She had spied her
friend among them.
Constance ran forward to meet Marjorie and Mary. "I couldn't come
before. I've been to the train. Father is here. He's going to be at home
for two days. And what do you think he wishes me to do?"
"You are not going away with him?" asked Marjorie in sudden alarm.
"No, indeed. I couldn't give up my sophomore year here, even for him. It
isn't anything so serious. He proposed that as long as he was here to
play for us, it would be a good idea to----"
"Give a dance," ended Jerry Macy. "Hurrah for Mr. Stevens! Long may he
wave!"
"Yes, you have guessed it, Jerry," laughed Constance. "I'm going to give
a party in honor of Mary. I was so excited over it that I left him to go
on to Gray Gables by himself, while I rushed over here as fast as I
could come. I wanted to catch you girls together so I could invite you
in a body. Jerry, do you suppose Hal would be willing to see Lawrie and
the Crane and some of our boys? It will have to be a strictly informal
hop, for I haven't time to send out invitations."
"Of course he'll round up the crowd," assured Jerry slangily. "If he
doesn't, I will. I guess I won't go to Sargent's with you. What is mere
ice cream when compared to a dance? Besides, it's fattening--the ice
cream, I mean. I've lost five pounds this summer and I'm not going to
find them again at Sargent's if I can help it. So long, I'll see you all
to-night."
Jerry bustled off on her errand, leaving her friends engaged in an eager
discussion of the coming festivity. A little later they trooped down the
street to their favorite rendezvous, where most of their pocket money
found a resting place.
"We won't have a single bit of appetite for luncheon," commented
Marjorie to Mary, when, an hour later, they set out for home.
"I suppose not," assented Mary indifferently. Her thoughts were far from
the subject of luncheon. Her jealousy of Constance Stevens was
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 on, Mary. Salute your officers and away we go."
In the excitement of dressing for the dance Mary almost forgot that she
was about to enter the house of the girl she now believed she disliked.
Marjorie's praise of her pretty white chiffon evening frock almost
restored her to good humor. Marjorie herself was radiant in a gown of
apricot Georgette crepe and filmy lace.
Mrs. Dean had elected to drive them to their destination in the
automobile, and when they alighted from the machine at the gate
to Gray Gables, waving her a gay good night, Mary felt almost glad
that she had come and that the dance was to be given in her honor.
"I've been watching for you." A slender figure in pale blue ran down the
steps to meet them. Out of pure sentiment Constance Stevens had chosen
to wear the blue chiffon dress--Marjorie's gracious gift to her. She had
taken the utmost care of it, and it looked almost as fresh as on the
night she had first worn it.
Mary Raymond stared at her in amazement Could it be--yes, it was the
very gown that Marjorie's aunt had given her a year ago as a
commencement present. Had not Marjorie declared over and over again that
she would never part with it? And now she had deliberately given it to
Constance. This proved beyond a doubt where Marjorie's true affection
lay. Mary was obsessed with a wild desire to turn and run down the drive
and away from this hateful girl. This was, indeed, the last straw.