"Here is my card," she offered, placing a bit of engraved pasteboard on Mary's desk.
The latter picked it up and read, "Mignon Adrienne La Salle."
"What a pretty name!" was her soft exclamation.
"I'm glad you like it," beamed Mignon. "But you haven't told me yours."
"I haven't any cards with me," apologized Mary. "My name is Mary Raymond."
"Have you lived long in Sanford?" inquired Mignon suavely. She had already decided that a girl who was in sympathy with her on one point might prove to be worth cultivating.
"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."