Marjorie rose.
"I can't apologize, Elsie; you know I can't," she said, steadily, and without another word she turned and left the room.
When Mrs. Carleton entered her niece's room an hour later, she found Marjorie curled up in a little disconsolate heap on the bed, her face buried in the pillows. Aunt Julia was still in her morning wrapper, and was looking decidedly worried.
"Marjorie," she began in a rather fretful tone, as she closed the door, and sank wearily into the arm-chair, "I am very much distressed by what Elsie tells me. I have come to ask you what it all means."
Marjorie raised a swollen, tear-stained face from the pillows.
"What has Elsie told you?" she inquired anxiously.
Mrs. Carleton pressed her hand to her forehead.
"O dear!" she sighed, "my head aches so this morning, and I do dislike all these quarrels and arguments. I did hope you and Elsie would get on together without quarreling."
"I don't want to quarrel," protested Marjorie; "what does Elsie say about me?"
"She says you have been very unkind and unjust to her. She won't tell me what it is all about. I tried to make her tell, but Elsie is so honorable; she hates tale-bearing. But I know you have hurt her pride, and made her very unhappy."