As soon as the girls reached home, they went to their rooms and substituted kimonas for their street clothes, preparing to rest before dinner. But though one or two of the number expressed the desire for a nap, the others would not keep quiet long enough for them to fall asleep. Ethel was attempting to comb her hair at Marjorie’s dressing table, and Frances was manicuring her nails; all the other girls were stretched lazily on the beds of one or the other of the communicating rooms.

“Isn’t it the grandest thing in the world to belong to F?? and go on parties like this?” observed Frances.

“It is fun to be together,” said Marjorie slowly; “but we could do that just the same if we didn’t belong to the sorority!”

“Oh, but we wouldn’t be likely to. The other girls at school don’t have them much. I guess it would be too hard to know where to draw the line, without hurting some girl’s feelings!” “And don’t you suppose we ever hurt anybody’s feelings by being exclusive?” asked Marjorie, bitterly.

“I don’t believe girls like Lily feel hurt; they know they’re out of it.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Lily,” said Marjorie, as she left the room.

“I wonder if Marjorie’s worrying about Ruth!” remarked Doris, thinking of the conversation at the breakfast table. “In a way, it does seem too bad.”

“Well, she’s foolish if she worries over her!” exclaimed Ethel; “for Ruth never troubles herself about Marjorie. She’s awfully selfish!”

“And yet I wonder whether we wouldn’t feel resentful if we were in her position,” said Frances. “It’s terribly hard for the girls who almost make the sorority.”

Marjorie came back with the dress she was to wear that evening, and the girls hastily changed the subject.

“How lovely!” exclaimed Doris, looking admiringly at the lemon-colored georgette Marjorie was holding on a hanger.

“Marj, why did you insist that we all wear different-colored dance dresses?” asked Mae.

Her hostess laughed gaily. “It’s a secret,” she said. “You’ll find out to-night!” “But I want to know now!”

“Let’s all get out our dresses, and see if we really did strike different colors,” suggested Marian.

“I hope they harmonize,” said Frances.

The soft pastel shades of the six dresses did blend beautifully together. Lavender, green, yellow, pink, blue, and white had been selected. They were not elaborately made; perhaps Doris’s was the fanciest; but it was white, and could afford, therefore, to have more trimming.

“It reminds me of a rainbow wedding,” said Marian. “Did you ever see one, where each bridesmaid wears a different-colored dress?”

“And the bride wears white!” laughed Marjorie, with a significant look at Doris.

A knock at the door drew the attention away from Doris, but only for a moment; for the box which Maggie, Mrs. Wilkinson’s second maid, handed to Marjorie was directed to her.

“Flowers for the bride!” announced Marjorie solemnly.

Doris opened the box, and found a bunch of violets.

“Who could have sent them?” teased Ethel.

Doris glanced at the card, and hastily slipped it into her suitcase. As soon as she was dressed she pinned the flowers through her sash, and followed the others to the dining-room. But to her great relief, Roger was not present at supper; he had gone home to dress.

Shortly after eight o’clock, the boys all arrived together. Jack received them and presented them to the girls. After everyone had been given a program, Marjorie announced her plan for the first dance.

“Since nobody knows anybody else,” she said, “I made a little game for finding partners for the first dance. The girls, as you see, all have on different-colored dresses. Now there is a candy pillow hidden somewhere in this room to match each dress. The boys hunt for them, and then go to claim their partners.

“Of course,” she continued, “you know that we are very much disappointed because one girl we had expected didn’t come. So, besides the six candy pillows, I have hidden a licorice taffy. Whoever finds the taffy has to be content to eat it instead of dancing the first dance!”

“Now get to work and find them!”

The boys searched diligently. Roger came across a green pillow, but seeing that no one was looking, he instantly hid it again in order to look further for a white one. Then he saw Jack with the white pillow, and gave up his chances of securing Doris. He returned to the hiding place of the green one, but found that it had already been captured, and David Conner was claiming Mae for the dance. In a minute or two he found the licorice taffy, and hunted Mr. Wilkinson, to spend the time with him at the victrola.

John Hadley was delighted to claim Marjorie. He had singled her out as the most interesting girl at the dance. And she certainly did look attractive in her simple party dress.

“I feel very much honored,” said John, “to have the first dance with the hostess.”

As they danced, he asked her all sorts of questions about the school, and the girls, and even the sorority. When she described the methods of the latter, he wrinkled his brows.

“Doesn’t that cause a good deal of unhappiness?” he asked.

“Perhaps—at first; but I guess the girls who aren’t taken in soon get over it. Don’t you have fraternities at Episcopal?”

“No; we only have a Boy Scout troop; and all the money, and pull, and even popularity, in the world can’t get you into that. It’s simply a question of hard work.”

“And what do you do?” asked the girl eagerly.

John started to tell of some of the troop’s activities, but before he had gone very far, the dance was over.

“Promise me the intermission and the last waltz?” he asked.

“All right,” agreed Marjorie, “if you’ll excuse me now to look after things.”

She had Jack announce that the next dance would be a Paul Jones, and that after that, the boys might fill their programs according to the girls’ wishes. He also said that during the intermission, when refreshments were served, he would be the “extra man”—without a partner—as he was needed to help; so the fellows could go ahead and get their programs filled.

When everyone was served, Marjorie turned to John and asked more about the scouts. She was fascinated by the accounts of their activities; and John—big, handsome John Hadley, the most popular fellow at Episcopal—was fascinated by this slip of a freshman.

“I tell you,” he suggested; “why don’t you start Girl Scouts at your school?”

“I’d love to,” said Marjorie, “but I don’t have time now for the regular things at school because F?? keeps me so busy!”

John persuaded Marjorie to give him an extra dance in the second half, and when she saw how happy her guests seemed to be, she agreed.

Mrs. Wilkinson had set the time limit of the dancing at half-past eleven; so before twelve o’clock, the boys had all gone, and the girls were starting up for bed.

“If they’d only let us have callers at Miss Allen’s!” sighed Doris, so woefully that everybody laughed out loud.

“They do, when you’re a senior, Doris!” said Ethel, “so cheer up—you’ve only three years to wait, and surely Roger’s love won’t grow cold in that time!”

Doris smiled and put her violets in water.

“Well, it’s been the loveliest time I’ve ever had!” said Frances; “oh, Marjorie, I’m so happy!”

“So am I”—“So am I,” cried the others.

“I guess everybody was happy to-night, Marj; it’s been such a perfect party!” said Doris.

But one person was unhappy that evening; one girl passed the gaily lighted house and looked in from the outside; one girl thought of the sorority she had missed making, and the friend she had lost—and in it all Ruth Henry blamed not herself, but Marjorie.