Before Marjorie could answer Lulu came up to ask Beverly to come and be introduced to Betty Randall, who was particularly anxious to meet him, and he was obliged to hurry away.
"What were you and that English girl talking about so long?" Elsie inquired, as she and Marjorie were driving home together half an hour later.
Marjorie roused herself from uncomfortable reflections with a start.
"Oh, nothing in particular," she said, "at least nothing you would be interested in. She was telling me about her brother, who used to be a cripple till Beverly Randolph's uncle cured him. He is a fine, strong-looking boy now—did you notice him?"
"Yes. Did you know their uncle was a lord?"
"Is he?" said Marjorie indifferently, and once more relapsed into silence. Elsie regarded her cousin in evident surprise.
"What's the matter, Marjorie?" she inquired curiously. "You seem to be in the dumps, and I'm sure I can't see why. You really danced much better than I supposed you could. You're not jealous, are you?"
"Jealous," repeated Marjorie, stupidly, "what about?"
"Why, your poem, of course, because you didn't get more votes. It really wasn't bad; I heard several of the girls say so."
"Of course I wasn't jealous," said Marjorie, indignantly. "I never dreamed of getting many votes. I think people were very kind to vote for me at all; it was just silly doggerel."