"Well," she began in a tone which she evidently intended to be quite cheerful and indifferent, "I've gotten rid of Hortense. She seemed to think she ought to stay till Papa and Mamma came home, but I told her we didn't need her. Now you can tell me what you said you would when we got home. Do be quick about it, though, for I'm awfully sleepy, and I want to go to bed." Before answering Marjorie went over to her cousin's side, and laid a timid hand on her shoulder. "Elsie," she said gently, "I'm so sorry; I hate to say it, but I've got to. It's--about that poem; I've read it before. You didn't think you really made it up, did you?" With an angry gesture Elsie pushed away her cousin's hand. "Of course I made it up," she said angrily; "how dare you say I didn't? I don't believe you ever saw a poem like it before in your life; you only say so because you're jealous." "Oh, Elsie, how can you say such dreadful things?" cried poor Marjorie, clasping her hands in her distress, and on the verge of tears. "How could I possibly be jealous of any one so much cleverer than myself? I've been so proud of you, Elsie--indeed, indeed I have--but I read that poem in an old 'St. Nicholas' at home. I remembered it because it was so pretty. Beverly Randolph remembers it, too; he--" "Beverly Randolph!" cried Elsie, her eyes flashing ominously; "so you told him about it, did you? That accounts for his not congratulating me when all the others did. Marjorie Graham, you are the meanest, most contemptible girl I have ever known. To think of your doing such a thing after all Papa and Mamma have done for you! But if you suppose for one moment that any one is going to take your word against mine, you'll find yourself very much mistaken. I shall write a note to Beverly Randolph to-morrow. A nice opinion he must have of you already--boys hate sneaks." "I'm not a sneak," retorted Marjorie, her own eyes beginning to flash. "I wouldn't have told Beverly Randolph or any one else such a thing for the world; I would have been ashamed to have them know. He recognized the poem, too. I saw he did the minute you began to read--and afterwards he spoke of it. But he won't tell; he promised not to, and--oh, Elsie I thought you might be able to explain it in some way." "There isn't anything to explain," said Elsie, obstinately. "If you and that horrid Randolph boy choose to say wicked things about me you can, but you are not everybody, and when my friends hear about it I think they'll have something to say." And without another word, Elsie walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her, and her cousin was left to cry herself to sleep undisturbed. CHAPTER XVI THE THINGS THAT HURT