Thanks to a long lecture which Jerry had read to her brother Hal, Mignon was not neglected. Although none of the Weston High boys really liked her, she was asked to dance almost every number. Later in the evening Lawrence Armitage asked her for a one-step, and she vainly imagined that, after all, she had made an impression on him. Radiant with triumph over her social success, Mignon saw herself firmly entrenched in the leadership she dreamed would be hers. But her triumph was to be short-lived. After supper, which was served at two long tables in the dining-room, the guests returned to their dancing with the tireless ardor of first youth. Chancing to be without a partner, Mignon slipped into a palm-screened nook under the stairs for a chat with Mary, who had followed her about all evening, more with a view of hurting Marjorie than from an excess of devotion. From their position they could see all that went on about them, yet be quite hidden from the unobservant. The unobservant happened to be Marjorie and Jerry Macy, who had come from the ballroom for a confidential talk and taken up their station directly in front of the alcove. Save for the two girls behind the palms, the hall was deserted. "Well, I guess Mignon's having a good time," declared Jerry Macy in her brisk, loud tones. "She ought to. I nearly talked myself hoarse to Hal before he'd promise to see that the boys asked her to dance. This reform business is no joke." "Lower your voice, Jerry," warned Marjorie. "Someone might hear you." Mary Raymond made a sudden movement to rise. Stubborn she might be, but she was not so dishonorable as to listen to a conversation not intended for her ears. Mignon pulled her back with sudden savage strength. She laid her finger to her lips, her black eyes gleaming with anger. "Oh, there's no one around. Say, Marjorie, do you think it's really worth while to go out of our way to reform Mignon? Look at her to-night. You'd think she had conquered the universe. She was all smiles when Laurie Armitage asked her to dance. He can't bear her, he told me so last Hallowe'en, after she made all that fuss about her old bracelet. If we hadn't banded ourselves together to find that better self which you are so sure she's carrying around with her, I'd say call it off and forget it. None of us really likes her. You know that, even if you won't say so. She is----" The waltz time ended in a soft chord and the dancers began trooping through the doorway to the big punch-bowl of lemonade in one corner of the hall. They were just in time to see a lithe figure in pink spring out, catlike, from behind the palm-screened alcove and hear a furious voice cry out, "How dare you insult a guest by talking about her, the moment her back is turned?" CHAPTER XV AN IRATE GUEST