"I have asked her, and so has your aunt, but she refused to tell us anything except that you have quarreled about something, and that you have treated her rather unkindly." Marjorie's eyes flashed indignantly, and she bit her lips to keep back the angry words. "Now I happen to know a good deal about these little quarrels of Elsie's," Mr. Carleton went on quietly. "She is a good girl, and a clever one, too, but she has her faults and I have no reason to suppose that you are any more to blame than she in this case. All I want is a clear account of what happened, and then I can settle this tempest in a teapot, which I can see has been making you both unhappy for the past two days." By this time Marjorie had succeeded in controlling her temper, and her voice was quite clear and steady as she answered-- "I am very sorry, Uncle Henry, but if Elsie hasn't told you what the trouble is, I am afraid I can't tell either. Please don't be angry, or think me disrespectful, but I can't tell; it wouldn't be fair." Mr. Carleton was evidently displeased. "Very well," he said, turning away coldly, and taking up a book, "I have no more to say on the matter. I am sorry, for I hoped you would have sufficient confidence in your aunt and me to trust us, and confide in us. I do not wish to force you to tell us anything against your will, but you must remember that your mother has placed you under our care." The tears rushed to Marjorie's eyes. "Oh, Uncle Henry!" she began, then checked herself abruptly, and, with a half suppressed sob, turned and fled back to her own room. It was more than an hour later when Elsie presented herself at her cousin's door. "May I come in, Marjorie?" she inquired in a rather conciliatory tone. Marjorie looked up from the letter she was writing; her face brightening with sudden hope. "Of course you may," she said, heartily. "Oh, Elsie, do let us make up; I can't stand not being friends with people I love." Elsie advanced slowly into the room and closed the door. "Papa has been talking to me," she said, "and I have promised him to forgive you for what you said to me the other night. You--you didn't tell him anything, did you?" "No," said Marjorie indignantly, "of course I didn't. He asked me, but I wouldn't tell. I'm afraid I made him angry." Elsie looked much relieved. "That's all right," she said, speaking more pleasantly than she had done since the meeting of the Poetry Club. "We won't say any more about it. I've torn up that silly poem, and nobody is going to remember it. If Beverly Randolph should ever say anything to you, you can tell him it was just a joke. Now come into my room, and I'll tell you all about the good time Carol and I had yesterday."