Hal, Laurie and Danny Seabrooke, on strict orders from Marjorie, had dutifully asked the French girl to dance. The majority of the Weston High boys were not so chivalrous. They did not like Mignon and steered prudently clear of her. Utterly disgruntled she left the Armory at eleven o'clock in a most unamiable frame of mind that spelled trouble for someone.

Just before midnight the Campfire ended with an old-fashioned Home Sweet Home waltz, followed by a bedlam of high school yells. The edge of youth is not easily dulled by work, particularly if that work be of a pleasant nature. The little frolic with which the Campfire ended was a most enthusiastic affair. The consensus of opinion was, that the Campfire ought to be a yearly event, and eager plans cropped up wholesale regarding what should be done at the next one. Roughly estimated, it was believed that the profits would exceed one thousand dollars. Divided equally between the Guards and the Lookouts it would go far toward solving their financial problems.

Following the excitement of the past three days, the peace of Sunday descended like a welcome mantle on the tireless promoters, who were forced to the conclusion that they were a trifle tired after all. It may be said to their credit that they did not fail to attend Sunday morning services in their respective churches, and more than one silent prayer of thankfulness ascended to the G.o.d they devoutly worshipped. Marjorie in particular was moved to offer up reverent thanks, adding a humble little pet.i.tion that she might be guided always to seek the right and cling to it.

On Sunday afternoon Jerry Macy appeared at the Deans shortly after dinner, proposing that she and Marjorie pay Lucy Warner a call.

"We'd better go and see Lucy ourselves," she counseled, "and not waste any more time wondering why she was among the missing last night."

"All right. I am willing. Captain won't care. She and General have gone for a ride. I'll leave word on the official bulletin board to let them know where I am bound for and when to expect me home."

Writing a hasty note, Marjorie tucked it into a small bulletin board, hung in the hall.

It was a rather long walk to the Warrens' unpretentious little home. As they traversed the stretch of field leading directly up to it, Marjorie was forcibly reminded of a winter day when she had floundered across that very field through the snow on the errand of mercy which had ended in Lucy Warner's unexpected revelation. To-day the open s.p.a.ce of ground lay brown and frozen. It looked even more desolate than when covered with snow.

"I'm thankful I don't have to live in that house!" Jerry's exclamation broke up her reverie. "It's a cheerless-looking place, isn't it?"

"That is what I thought the first time I came here," nodded Marjorie. "I was just thinking of that day last winter when I waded through the snow to get to it. That was the day I came down with tonsillitis."

"I remember. You were all in when you left us to come here. You never told me anything about that call."

Marjorie smiled whimsically. She had never given anyone the details relating to that particular call. She now replied to Jerry's remark merely with: "Oh, I took Lucy a basket of fruit, went upstairs to her room and talked with her quite a while. When I went to her house I felt rather ill. My feet were wet from plowing through the snow. While I was there I forgot about it. When I started away from her house I had to wade through the snow again and then I went home and had tonsillitis."

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jerry. "You certainly took a lot of trouble for her.

She must have realized it, too, for she's been your fervent worshipper ever since. I hope Mignon hasn't told her a lot of things that will undo all the good you've done. Lucy has been a changed girl since you and she became friends."

"I am very fond of her. She is the brightest girl I have ever known."

Marjorie spoke with admiring sincerity. The two friends had left the field behind them and were now proceeding up the straggling path that led up to the house. "I do hope she is at home."

"Umm!" was Jerry's sole comment. Her sharp eyes were intently scanning the front windows of the house as though seeking to discover whether its tenants were within. Arrived at the door, she peered about in search of a bell. Finding none she doubled a plump fist and rapped energetically on a weather-stained panel of the door. An instant's silence ensued.

Listening acutely neither girl heard the sound of approaching footsteps from within. Failing to elicit a response, Jerry beat a loud tattoo upon the panel.

"There's no one at home," sighed Marjorie disappointedly.

"Come on. We might as well go." The command held a touch of aggressiveness. "I could wear my hand out thumping it on the door for all the good it would do."

Sensing the aggressive note in Jerry's voice, Marjorie attributed it to the stout girl's natural impatience of delay.

"It's a shame; a burning shame!" They were half way down the walk when Jerry thus delivered herself.

"Why, Jeremiah, what is it?" It had dawned upon Marjorie that something stronger than impatience had seized upon her friend.

"Marjorie, Lucy Warner _is_ at home," stated Jerry deliberately. "As we went up the path I saw her through a window. She flashed across the end of the room farthest away from the window and disappeared."

"At home!" gasped Marjorie. "Then she must have seen us coming and--"

"Beat it," supplemented Jerry with inelegant force. "What's the answer?

Mignon, of course. We don't need to ask Lucy about it. We know now that what we suspect is a fact. If it weren't, Lucy would have answered my knock. What are you going to do about it?"

"I intend to see Lucy to-morrow morning and find out what the trouble is," came Marjorie's steady answer. "If she is angry with us, I shall know it the instant she speaks. We have no right simply to take it for granted that she is angry. We mustn't even blame Mignon until we know positively that she actually made mischief."

"Mignon is at the bottom of Lucy's grouch. Take my word for it,"

sputtered Jerry. "She has been trying to set Lucy against you ever since school began. It looks as though she'd succeeded at last. There's just this much about it, you have stood too much from that girl. I'm going to take a hand in this affair and put Mignon where she belongs. Do you know where that is? I do. It's outside the club."

CHAPTER XIX-THE SIGN

It still lacked half an hour until school opened on Monday morning when an anxious-eyed little girl ran up the long stone steps to the building and steered a straight course for Miss Archer's office. Marjorie felt that she could not settle her mind on her studies until she had held an interview with Lucy Warner and ascertained the cause of her strange behavior. She, too, had a disheartening conviction that Mignon was responsible for it. She believed, however, that she could soon disabuse Lucy of whatever false impressions she now held.

"Good morning, Lucy," she called out cheerily as she entered the pleasant living room office. She had spied the secretary at the typewriter desk, her head bent low over her work.

Lucy made no response to the salutation, neither did she raise her head.

A slow color stole into her pale cheeks, but she stubbornly riveted her eyes on the letter she was typing.

Her own color rising, Marjorie boldly approached the belligerent secretary, halting a little to one side of her. With quiet directness she said: "Lucy, what has happened? Why are you angry with me?"

Slowly raising her head, Lucy eyed Marjorie with patent scorn. "Will you kindly go away and leave me alone?" she requested icily.

"No, I will not." Marjorie stood her ground. "I asked you a fair question; I deserve a fair answer."

"I have nothing to say." Lucy presented the uncommunicative appearance of a blank wall. Marjorie could not possibly know how much effort it cost Lucy to maintain this att.i.tude. Secretly she was longing to pour forth all that Mignon had told her. Too late, she bitterly regretted her rash promise. Marjorie's grieved look seemed too real to doubt. Away from her, Lucy could believe her guilty of treachery. Face to face, it was another matter.

Yet Mignon had given her undeniable proof of Marjorie's duplicity. She could not overlook that. This dark recollection put her brief impulse toward softening to flight. Her own wrongs looming large before her, the many benefits she had received at Marjorie's hands were forgotten.

Overridden by blind suspicion she allowed the ign.o.ble side of her nature to spring into play. With deliberate cruelty she now said: "Miss Dean, you are seriously interfering with my work. I have no more time to spend in useless argument." Gathering up a sheaf of papers from her desk, she rose and stalked toward the inner office, a stiff little figure of hostility.

With a sigh, Marjorie turned and walked dejectedly off in an opposite direction. Strangely enough she felt more sorry for Lucy than for herself. Her conscience entirely clear of wrong doing, she knew that poor Lucy was in the clutch of some dire misapprehension regarding herself which Mignon La Salle had instilled into her suspicious mind.

What to do next the perplexed lieutenant did not know. It was useless to go to Mignon. She would undoubtedly profess absolute ignorance of the cause of Lucy's grievance. Jerry was still to be reckoned with. It now looked as though her captain's prophecy regarding Mignon was about to be fulfilled. Perhaps, after all, it would be best to allow Jerry to carry out her threat of holding a special meeting of the Lookouts to decide Mignon's fitness for further membership.

Marjorie intensely disliked the thought. Despite Mignon's love of intrigue, she made a good treasurer. The club accounts were perfectly kept by her. She had served faithfully at the Campfire. Her father had contributed generously to the club and to the Campfire. Mignon's forced resignation from the Lookouts would hurt him. Then, too, Lucy Warner had been warned against Mignon. Marjorie felt that Lucy herself was partially at fault. She had shown herself over-credulous and ungrateful.

Mentally weighing the pros and cons of the affair, the baffled peace-seeker grew momentarily more perplexed. She had prayed earnestly on the day before to be shown the right. Now she yearned for a sign that would plainly point out to her her duty.

"Did you see her?" was Jerry's first low-voiced question when at noon the two girls met in the senior locker room.

"Yes; but I can't tell you about it now," returned Marjorie soberly.

"After school is over to-day I wish you and Connie to come to my house.

We will talk it over then. I don't care to have anyone else know about it besides Connie."

"All right. That will suit me." Jerry appeared satisfied with Marjorie's decision. On the way home she steered prudently clear of all mention of either Mignon or Lucy, although Muriel Harding brought up the subject of the latter's absence from the Campfire on Sat.u.r.day evening. As neither she, Irma, Susan or Harriet were able to offer any information, while Marjorie and Jerry refused to commit themselves, the topic soon died a natural death.

"Take a little run up to your house, Lieutenant," greeted Mrs. Dean, as Marjorie entered the living room. "It will pay you to do so."

"'To obey is a soldier's first duty,'" quoted Marjorie merrily, coming to attention and saluting. She was off like a flash, her swift feet making short work of the ascent to her house. "Oh!" she breathed as she caught sight of a long florist's box on her center table. Three times she repeated the exclamation as she glimpsed its contents. Lifting a sheaf of long-stemmed, half-opened American Beauty roses from the box, she buried her face in their spicy fragrance. As she raised them a square white envelope dropped to the floor bearing the words: "To Miss Marjorie Dean."

Not recognizing the heavy, masculine script, she eagerly explored the envelope to ascertain who the giver might be. A faint cry of consternation escaped her as she hastily glanced at the signature before reading the note. Bundling the roses on the table, she sought the window seat and read:

"Dear Miss Marjorie: