Then came an hour of games and dancing, followed at half-past nine, by light refreshments. But although Marjorie entered into the gayety with the rest, her heart was very heavy, and she did not join in the congratulations which were being showered upon the new president, in which even Lulu's mother and aunt, who had come downstairs as soon as the initiation was over, joined heartily. Beverly Randolph was a general favorite, and devoted himself in turn to almost every girl in the room, but he, too, held aloof from the new president. He and Marjorie had no opportunity for private conversation till the refreshments were being served, when he approached her corner, with a plate of ice-cream. "Your 'Boring Life of New York' was fine," he remarked, pleasantly, taking the vacant chair by her side. "I quite agree with your sentiment. I voted for you." "You are very kind," said Marjorie, blushing, "but it wasn't nearly as good as several of the others. Lulu's was splendid. You--you didn't like Elsie's?" "No, I didn't," said Beverly bluntly, "and you didn't, either." Marjorie's cheeks were crimson, but she made one desperate effort to save her cousin. "It was a beautiful little poem," she faltered, "only--only I thought--but perhaps I was mistaken--I'm sure Elsie wouldn't have done such a thing; it must have been a mistake." Beverly said nothing, but he did not look convinced. "Where--where did you see it before?" Marjorie went on desperately. "In an old volume of 'St. Nicholas' at home. My mother used to take the magazine when she was a little girl, and has all the volumes bound. I used to be very fond of some of the old stories, and so was my sister Barbara. I remember she learned that poem once to recite to Mother on her birthday." Marjorie's heart sank like lead. Well did she remember the old worn volumes of St. Nicholas--relics of her own mother's childhood--over which she had pored on many a rainy day at home. She cast an appealing glance at Beverly. "You won't tell?" she said unsteadily. "Of course I won't; I'm not a cad. And look here, Marjorie; I wouldn't bother my head about it if I were you. Miss Elsie is quite able to fight her own battles." "But she is my cousin," said Marjorie in a very low voice, "and I'm so ashamed." Beverly's face softened, and his voice was very kind when he answered: "You're a brick, Marjorie; lots of girls wouldn't care. But don't let it make you unhappy. If I were you I'd have it out with Elsie; perhaps she'll have some excuse to offer." Before Marjorie could answer Lulu came up to ask Beverly to come and be introduced to Betty Randall, who was particularly anxious to meet him, and he was obliged to hurry away. "What were you and that English girl talking about so long?" Elsie inquired, as she and Marjorie were driving home together half an hour later. Marjorie roused herself from uncomfortable reflections with a start.