"I am sure it was very kind of Mrs. Randolph to think of giving you so much pleasure," she said. "I am not displeased with you either, Marjorie; I am only warning you not to make such a mistake another time. The Randolphs are merely slight acquaintances of ours, and one doesn't like being under obligations to strangers, you know. Elsie feels this quite as strongly as I do." "Elsie," repeated Marjorie, with a start, "why does she care? Didn't she want me to go to the game?" "Nonsense, dear; of course Elsie wanted you to go. She would have been delighted if only the circumstances had been a little different. Don't look so distressed, Marjorie; there is really nothing tragic in the situation. You have done nothing wrong, and I am glad you have had such a pleasant day, but don't accept another invitation without consulting either your uncle or me. Now kiss me good-night; I am tired to death and simply cannot sit up another minute." Marjorie cried herself to sleep that night for the first time in weeks. In spite of the memories of her happy day, she was more homesick than she had been at any time since coming to New York. She was so anxious to do right; to please her uncle and aunt in every way, and show them how grateful she was for all they were doing for her. And now, without having the slightest idea of having done anything wrong, she had annoyed Aunt Julia. She was thankful Hortense had not mentioned the episode of the cruel driver, and that her wrist no longer required a bandage. What would her aunt say if she knew of this delinquency as well as the other? But Marjorie was a very honest, truthful girl, and she decided to make a clean breast of everything to Uncle Henry when he came home. There was only one thing she could not understand, and that was why Elsie should have objected to her going to New Haven with the Randolphs. CHAPTER XIV THE POETRY CLUB THERE was a marked coolness in Elsie's manner to her cousin the next morning, which Marjorie found decidedly uncomfortable as well as perplexing, but even Elsie was not proof against the weakness of curiosity, and after a few veiled hints, which Marjorie quite failed to understand, she finally softened, and demanded a full account of yesterday's doings, which her cousin was only too glad to give. "Tell me about Lulu Bell," said Elsie, when Marjorie had reached the part of her story where they had arrived at New Haven, and gone to lunch at the hotel restaurant. "Did Beverly Randolph pay her a lot of attention?" "Why, no, I don't think so," said Marjorie, innocently, "at least not any more than he paid to any of us. He was very polite to everybody, and I think he's the nicest boy I've ever met." "Probably that is because you have never met many people except Mexicans and Indians," remarked Elsie sarcastically.