Mrs. Harvey yawned. "I think it's that crazy Indian blood in Bernice," continued Marjorie. "Maybe she's a reversion to type. Indian women all just sat round and never said anything." "Go to bed, you silly child," laughed Mrs. Harvey. "I wouldn't have told you that if I'd thought you were going to remember it. And I think most of your ideas are perfectly idiotic," she finished sleepily. There was another silence, while Marjorie considered whether or not convincing her mother was worth the trouble. People over forty can seldom be permanently convinced of anything. At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five they are caves in which we hide. Having decided this, Marjorie said good night. When she came out into the hall it was quite empty. III While Marjorie was breakfasting late next day Bernice came into the room with a rather formal good morning, sat down opposite, stared intently over and slightly moistened her lips. "What's on your mind?" inquired Marjorie, rather puzzled. Bernice paused before she threw her hand-grenade. "I heard what you said about me to your mother last night." Marjorie was startled, but she showed only a faintly heightened color and her voice was quite even when she spoke. "Where were you?" "In the hall. I didn't mean to listen--at first." After an involuntary look of contempt Marjorie dropped her eyes and became very interested in balancing a stray corn-flake on her finger. "I guess I'd better go back to Eau Claire--if I'm such a nuisance." Bernice's lower lip was trembling violently and she continued on a wavering note: "I've tried to be nice, and--and I've been first neglected and then insulted. No one ever visited me and got such treatment." Marjorie was silent. "But I'm in the way, I see. I'm a drag on you. Your friends don't like me." She paused, and then remembered another one of her grievances. "Of course I was furious last week when you tried to hint to me that that dress was unbecoming. Don't you think I know how to dress myself?" "No," murmured less than half-aloud. "What?" "I didn't hint anything," said Marjorie succinctly. "I said, as I remember, that it was better to wear a becoming dress three times straight than to alternate it with two frights." "Do you think that was a very nice thing to say?" "I wasn't trying to be nice." Then after a pause: "When do you want to go?" Bernice drew in her breath sharply. "Oh!" It was a little half-cry. Marjorie looked up in surprise. "Didn't you say you were going?" "Yes, but---" "Oh, you were only bluffing!" They stared at each other across the breakfast-table for a moment. Misty waves were passing before Bernice's eyes, while Marjorie's face wore that rather hard expression that she used when slightly intoxicated undergraduate's were making love to her. "So you were bluffing," she repeated as if it were what she might have expected. Bernice admitted it by bursting into tears. Marjorie's eyes showed boredom.