Mrs. Dean frowned slightly at the mention of the French girl's name. Mother-like, she had never quite forgiven Mignon for the needless sorrow she had wrought in the lives of those she held so dear. Marjorie caught the significance of that frown. "I know how you feel about things, dearest," she nodded. "Perhaps you won't give your consent to the plan I--that is, we--have made. But I have to tell you, anyway, so here goes. Mignon La Salle went away to boarding school, but she--well she was sent home, and now she's back in Sanford High again. This afternoon Jerry, Irma, Susan, Muriel Harding and I went together to Sargent's for ice cream. While we were there we decided that we ought to forgive the past and try to help Mignon find her better self. The only way we can help her is to treat her well and invite her to our parties and luncheons. If she finds we are ready to begin all over again with her, perhaps she'll be different. We made a solemn compact to do it, provided our mothers were willing we should. So to be very slangy, 'It's up to you, Captain!'" "But suppose this girl merely takes advantage of your kindness and involves you all in another tangle?" remarked Mrs. Dean quietly. "It seems to me that she proved herself wholly untrustworthy last year." "I know it." Marjorie sighed. She would have liked to say that Mignon had already tied an ugly snarl in her affairs. But loyalty to Mary forbade the utterance. Then, brightening, she went on hopefully: "If we never try to help her, we'll never know whether she really has a better self. Sometimes it takes just a little thing to change a person's heart." "You are a dear child," Mrs. Dean bent to press a kiss on Marjorie's curly head, "and your argument is too generous to be downed. I give my official consent to the proposed reform, and I hope, for all concerned, that it will turn out beautifully." "Oh, Captain," Marjorie nestled closer, "you're too dear for words. There's another reason for my wishing to be friendly with Mignon. Mary has met her and likes her." "Mary!" Mrs. Dean looked her astonishment. "By the way, Marjorie, where is Mary? I had quite forgotten her for the time being. You didn't mention her as being with you at Sargent's." "She wasn't there," explained Marjorie. "She didn't wait for me after school. She must have gone on with--with someone and stopped to talk. I--I think she'll be here soon." A hurt look, of which she was entirely unconscious, had driven the brightness from the face Marjorie turned to her mother. Mrs. Dean was a wise woman. She discerned that there had been a hitch in the programme of her daughter's daily affairs, but she asked no questions. She never intruded upon Marjorie's little reserves. She knew now that whatever her daughter had kept back had been done in accordance with a code of living, the uprightness of which was seldom equalled in a girl of her years. She, therefore, respected the reservation and made no attempt to discover its nature.