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."