"Thank you." Mary sat down and took account of her surroundings. Across the aisle on one side, Susan Atwell's dimpled face flashed her a welcome. On the other side sat a tall, severe junior who wore eye-glasses. The seat in front of her was vacant. Marjorie sat far down the same row. Mary could just see the top of her curly head. It still lacked five minutes of opening time and the students were, for the most part, conversing in low tones. Now and then an accidentally loud note caused Miss Merton to raise her head from her writing and glare severely at the offender. Susan Atwell leaned across the aisle and patted Mary's hand in friendly fashion. "I'm so glad you are going to sit here," she said in an undertone. "I was afraid Miss Merton would put some old slow-poke there who wouldn't say 'boo' or pass notes or do anything to help the sophomore cause along." "I'm glad she put me near you," returned Mary affably. She had made up her mind to win friends. They would be indispensable to her now that all was over between her and Marjorie. "I don't imagine that tall girl is very sociable." "She's a dig and a prig," giggled Susan. "You'd get no recreation from labor from that quarter." Mary echoed Susan's infectious giggle. "Who sits in front of me?" she asked. "No one, yet. Who knows what manner of girl is in store for us? That's the only vacant seat in the section. The first late arrival into our midst will get it. I don't believe we'll have any more girls, though, unless someone comes into school late as Marjorie came last year. It's too bad. It makes an awkward stretch if one wants to pass a note. I always am caught if I throw one. Last year I threw one and hit Miss Merton in the back. She was standing quite a little way down the aisle. I thought it was a splendid opportunity. I'd been waiting to send one to Irma Linton, who sat two seats in front of me. The girl between us wouldn't pass it. So I threw it, and it went further than I thought." Susan's fascinating giggle burst forth anew. She rocked to and fro in merriment at the recollection. Mary found herself laughing in concert. Just then the opening bell clanged forth its harsh note of warning. The low buzz of voices in the great study hall died into silence. Every pair of eyes faced front. Miss Merton rose from her chair to conduct the opening exercises. A sudden murmur that swept the hall caused her to say sternly, "Silence." Then, noting that the eyes of her pupils were fixed in concerted gaze on the study-hall door, she turned sharply. A black-haired, black-eyed girl, whose elfish face wore an expression of mingled contempt and amusement, advanced into the room with a decided air of one who wishes to create an impression. "Mignon!" gasped Susan. "Well, _what_ do you think of that?" CHAPTER IX THE BLINDNESS OF JEALOUSY