Mary's tense features relaxed a trifle. She was not yet so firmly in the toils of the French girl as to be entirely blind to Marjorie's sincerity. Her good sense told her that she was making a mountain of a mole hill. There was a ring of truth in Marjorie's voice that brought a flush of shame to her cheeks. Still she would not allow it to sway her.
"It wasn't nice in you to laugh," she muttered. "She was dreadfully hurt. She feels very sensitive about being sent home from school. Of course, she knows she deserved it. She said so. But——"
"Did she really say that?" interrupted Marjorie eagerly.
"I am not in the habit of saying what isn't true," retorted Mary coldly.
"Listen, Mary." Marjorie's face was aglow with honest purpose. "I said to you, you know, that if you wished Mignon for a friend I would be nice to her, too. Captain has promised to let me give my party for you on next Friday night. I am going to invite Mignon to it, and we are all going to try to make her feel friendly toward us."
"She won't come," predicted Mary contemptuously. "I wouldn't, either, if I were in her place. I shall tell her not to come, too."
"Then you will be proving yourself anything but a friend to her," flung back Marjorie hotly, "because you will be advising her against doing something that is for her good." With this clinching argument Marjorie walked to the door and opened it.
"Whether I say a word or not, she won't come," called Mary after her. But Marjorie was halfway down the stairs, too greatly exasperated to trust herself to further speech.