"I have no wish to interfere in your school life, Marjorie," she said with a touch of sternness, when Marjorie had finished, "but I will not hear of either of you being imposed upon. If Miss Merton continues her unjust treatment I shall insist that you tell me of it. I shall take measures to have it stopped." "Captain won't stand having her army abused," laughed Marjorie. "At least you must admit that I'm a conscientious officer," was her mother's reply. "To change the subject, would you like to go shopping with me this afternoon?" "Oh, yes," chorused the two. Even Mary forgot her grievances for the moment. As little girls they had always hailed the idea of shopping with their beloved captain. The shopping tour took up the greater part of the afternoon, and it was after five o'clock when the two started for home. "No lingering at the dinner table to-night for this army," declared Marjorie, finishing her dessert in a hurry. "It's almost seven, Mary. We'll have to hurry upstairs to dress for the dance." "You didn't apply to me for a leave of absence," reminded Mr. Dean. "You know the penalty for deserting." "We've forgotten it, General. You can tell us what it is to-morrow," retorted Marjorie. "Come on, Mary. Salute your officers and away we go." In the excitement of dressing for the dance Mary almost forgot that she was about to enter the house of the girl she now believed she disliked. Marjorie's praise of her pretty white chiffon evening frock almost restored her to good humor. Marjorie herself was radiant in a gown of apricot Georgette crepe and filmy lace. Mrs. Dean had elected to drive them to their destination in the automobile, and when they alighted from the machine at the gate to Gray Gables, waving her a gay good night, Mary felt almost glad that she had come and that the dance was to be given in her honor. "I've been watching for you." A slender figure in pale blue ran down the steps to meet them. Out of pure sentiment Constance Stevens had chosen to wear the blue chiffon dress--Marjorie's gracious gift to her. She had taken the utmost care of it, and it looked almost as fresh as on the night she had first worn it. Mary Raymond stared at her in amazement Could it be--yes, it was the very gown that Marjorie's aunt had given her a year ago as a commencement present. Had not Marjorie declared over and over again that she would never part with it? And now she had deliberately given it to Constance. This proved beyond a doubt where Marjorie's true affection lay. Mary was obsessed with a wild desire to turn and run down the drive and away from this hateful girl. This was, indeed, the last straw. CHAPTER VII THE PROMISE