have I done? You know I love you better than anyone in the whole world, and now you accuse me of changing!”

“But you have changed,” insisted Dorothy, sobbing bitterly. “Everybody is talking about it. And if you knew what a time I have had trying—trying to stand up for you!”

“To stand up for me!” repeated Tavia. “What have I done that need provoke comment? Surely it is my own business if I do not choose to be the school monkey any longer. Let some of the others turn in and serve on the giggling committee. I think I have done my share!”

“Oh, it isn’t that,” and Dorothy jabbed her handkerchief into her eyes, “but you are so—so different. You always seem to be thinking of something else.”

“Something else!” and Tavia tried to laugh. “Surely it is no crime to be—thoughtful?”

“Well, I think it is perfectly dreadful for a girl to go and grow straight up—without any warning.”

“What an old lady I must be,” and Tavia looked very severe and dignified. “But, Doro dear, you need not worry. You surely believe I would never do anything I really thought wrong.”

“That’s just it. You would not think it wrong, but suppose you did something that turned out to be wrong?”

Tavia made no answer but the “old lady” look came back into her face—that serious expression so new to her. She seemed to be looking far ahead—far away—at some uncertain, remote possibility.

For several minutes neither girl spoke. They could hear the “miscreants” who had been out after hours creeping past their door. Every one in Glenwood should be asleep. The last hall light had just been turned out—but the girls from Dalton were still thinking.

Dorothy, usually the one to mend matters, to-night seemed sullen and resolute. Plainly Tavia was hiding something from her, and while Dorothy could bear with any amount of mistakes or impulsive little wrongdoings, she could not put up with a deliberate slight—a premeditated act of deception.

Tavia saw that she was bound to hold out—to insist upon a “clearing up,” and, as this did not suit her, for reasons best known to herself, she attempted to pet Dorothy back to her usual forgiving mood.

But the storm that had been so long brewing was in no hurry to blow over, and Dorothy went to bed with 

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