Five minutes later she found herself running upstairs for her presents for the Deans in an almost happy mood, and she joined in the present giving with a heartiness that was far from forced. Once she had ceased to resist Marjorie's winning advances she was completely drawn into the divine spirit of the occasion, and she allowed herself to drift once more into the dear channel of bygone friendship. Marjorie fairly bubbled over with exuberant happiness. The unbelievable had come to pass. She and Mary were once more chums. She longed to tell Mary all that was in her heart, but refrained. For to-day it was better to live on the surface of things. Later there would be plenty of time for confidences. After breakfast she mentioned rather timidly that she expected a call from Constance and little Charlie. Mary received the statement with an apparent docility that brought welcome relief to Marjorie. She was not sure of her chum on this one point. When Constance and Charlie arrived at a little after ten o'clock, burdened with gaily decked bundles, Marjorie's fears were set at rest. To be sure, Mary showed no enthusiasm over Constance, but Charlie was a different matter. She had conceived a strange, deep love for the quaint little boy and spared no pains to entertain him. While she was putting Marjorie's beautiful angora cat, Ruffle, through a series of cunning little tricks, which he performed with sleepy indolence, Marjorie managed to say to Constance, "I can't come to see you to-night, Connie. I'll explain some day soon. You understand." Constance nodded wisely. Nothing could have induced her to mar the reconciliation which had evidently taken place. "Come when you can," she murmured. Generously leaving herself out of the question, she purposely shortened her stay, although Charlie pleaded to remain. "I'll come again soon," he assured Mary, as he was being towed off by his sister's determined hand. "I like you almost as well as Connie." Marjorie's glorious day was over all too soon. She hovered about Mary with a friendly solicitude that could not be denied. The latter graciously allowed her the privilege, but behind her pleasant manner there was a hint of reserve, which did not dawn upon Marjorie until late that evening. At first she reproached herself for even imagining it, but as bedtime approached the conviction grew that when twelve o'clock came Mary would again resume her hostile attitude. "It is time taps was sounded," reminded Mr. Dean, looking up from his book, as the grandfather's clock in the living room pointed half past eleven. Mrs. Dean sat placidly reading a periodical. "We'll obey you, General, as soon as we've finished our game." Marjorie looked up from the backgammon board at which she and Mary were seated. It had always been a favorite game with them and Marjorie had proposed playing to relieve the curious sensation of apprehension that was gradually settling down upon her.