Three days later Marjorie’s theory seemed destined to prove itself correct. Ellen Seymour came to her, wrath in her eye. “See here, Marjorie,” she burst forth impulsively, “if Miss Davis sends for you to meet her in the gym after school, let me know. I’m going there with you. Yesterday while you girls were at practice she stood there watching you. Do you remember?”

“Yes. I noticed her. She stared at me so hard she made me nervous and I played badly. She has always had that effect on me. Last year when she managed the team she was fond of watching me. She used to criticize my playing, too, and call out one thing to me just when I knew I ought to do another. She was awfully fussy. I hope she isn’t going to begin it again this year. I thought she had left everything to you.”

“So did I,” retorted Ellen grimly. “It seems she hasn’t. Someone, you can guess who, went to her after the game and said something about your playing. She came to me and said: ‘I understand there is a great deal of dissatisfaction on the part of the juniors over Miss Dean’s being on the junior team.’ You can imagine what I said. When I saw her in the gym after school I knew she had an object. But leave things to me. I know a way to stop her objections very quickly. If she sends for you, go straight to the junior locker room from the study hall and wait there for me. If she doesn’t send for you, then you’ll know everything is all right. Remember now, don’t set foot out of that locker room until I come for you.” With this parting injunction Ellen hurried off, leaving Marjorie a victim to many emotions.

So the Observer’s, or rather Mignon’s, prophesy bordered on fulfillment. Mignon and the few juniors who still adhered to the La Salle standard had made complaint against her to Miss Davis in the name of the junior class. As a friend of Miss Merton, Miss Davis had always favored the French girl. Last year it had been whispered about that her motive in creating a second sophomore team had arisen from her wish to help Mignon’s fortunes along. No doubt she had been very glad to listen to this latest appeal on Mignon’s part.

But Marjorie was only partially correct in her conclusions. Though it was, indeed, true that Mignon had besieged Miss Davis with a plea that Marjorie be removed from the team, no other member of the junior class had accompanied her. She was flanked by the far more powerful allies, Charlotte Horner and Rowena Farnham. The plan of attack had originated in Rowena’s fertile brain as the result of a bitter outburst against Marjorie on Mignon’s part. It was directly after the game that she had stormed out her grievances to Rowena and Charlotte. Personally, Rowena cared little about Mignon’s woes. Her mischief-making faculties were aroused merely on Marjorie’s account. Had it been Susan, or Muriel against whom Mignon raved she would have laughed and dubbed her friend, “a big baby.” But Marjorie—there was a chance to even her score.

“You just let me manage this,” Rowena had declared boastfully. “This Miss Davis is easy. She’s a snob. So is Miss Merton. If they weren’t they’d have put you in your place long ago. They can see through you. It’s money that counts with both of them. I’ve made it a point right along to be nice to Miss Davis. In case that frosty Miss Seymour tried to make trouble for me, I knew I needed a substantial backing. Now I’ll ask her to my house to dinner to-morrow night. If she can’t come, so much the better for me. If she can, so much the better for you. Of course you’ll be there, too. Then we’ll see what we can do. You ought to be very grateful to me. I expect she’ll bore me to death. I’m only doing it for your sake.”

Rowena was too crafty not to hang the heavy mantle of obligation on Mignon’s shoulders. Thus indebted to her, Mignon would one day be reminded of the debt. As a last perfect touch to her scheme she had shrewdly included Charlotte Horner in the invitation. Providentially for Mignon, Miss Davis had no previous engagement. So it fell about that Rowena became hostess to three guests. At home a young despot, who bullied her timid little mother and coaxed her indulgent father into doing her will, she merely announced her intention to entertain at dinner and let that end it. The final results of that highly successful dinner party were yet to be announced.

Unwittingly, however, Miss Davis had blundered. In order to strengthen her case she had purposely complained of Marjorie to Ellen Seymour. Knowing nothing of Ellen’s devotion to the pretty junior, she had not dreamed that Ellen would set the wheels in motion to defeat her. She was in reality more to be pitied than blamed. Of a nature which accepted hearsay evidence, declining to go below the surface, it is not to be wondered at that Rowena’s clever persuasion, backed by Mignon’s and Charlotte’s able support, caused her to spring to the French girl’s aid. She was one of those aggravating persons who refuse to see whatever they do not wish to see. She was undoubtedly proficient in the business of physical culture. She was extremely inefficient in the art of reading girls. Sufficient unto herself, she, therefore, felt no compunction in sending forth the word that should summon Marjorie to the gymnasium, there to be deprived of that which she had rightfully earned.

Like many other days that had come to poor Marjorie since the beginning of her junior year, suspense became the ruling power. Two things she knew definitely. Ellen Seymour was for her. Miss Davis against her. The rest she could only guess at, losing herself in a maze of troubled conjecture. Judge her surprise when on reaching the locker room, she found not only Ellen awaiting her, but her teammates as well. They had made a most precipitate flight from the study hall in order to be in the locker room when she arrived.

“Why, Ellen! Why, girls!” she stammered. A deeper pink rushed to her cheeks; a mist gathered in her eyes as she realized the meaning of their presence. They had come in a body to help her.

“We’re here because we’re here,” trilled Captain Muriel Harding. “In a few minutes we’ll be in the gym. Then someone else will get a surprise. Are we ready to march? I rather think we are. Lead the procession, Ellen.”

“Come on, Marjorie, you and I will walk together. Fall in, girls. The invincible sextette will now take the trail.”

Amid much laughter on their part and openly curious glances from constantly arriving juniors who wondered what was on foot, the six girls had swung off down the corridor before the curious ones found opportunity to relieve their curiosity.

“She’s not here yet,” commented Susan, as they entered the place of tryst. “Isn’t that too bad. I hoped she’d be on hand to see the mighty host advancing.”

“Here she comes,” warned Rita Talbot. “Now, for it.”