Every door and every window of Miss Allen’s Boarding School stood wide open in hospitality to welcome the guests of the graduating class. For it was Commencement Week, and visitors were coming from far and wide to see the exercises.

Upstairs in the dormitories, confusion reigned everywhere. Trunks, half-packed, their lids wide open and their trays on the floor, lined the hallways; dresses were lying about in profusion on chairs and beds; great bunches of flowers filled the vases and pitchers; and rooms were bereft of their hangings and furnishings. Girls, girls everywhere! In party dresses or kimonos they rushed about their rooms or bent over their trunks in the hall. Everybody seemed in mad haste to accomplish the impossible. Marjorie Wilkinson and Lily Andrews were no less excited than the other seniors. They not only shared in the mad whirl of social events and class activities, but as officers they were responsible for their success. When dances and picnics were to be arranged, studying and packing were out of the question for them.

But that afternoon there had been a slight lull in their program, and both girls were in their room, trying to make up for lost time. Marjorie, who had been struggling for half an hour with a buckle and a satin pump, finally put it aside in disgust.

“Lil, I can’t sew that thing on, so as to have it look right! Every needle breaks, and the stitches show besides!”

“Couldn’t you wear them without the buckles?” suggested her room-mate, looking up from the floor, where she was kneeling over a bureau drawer.

“No, the marks would show where the buckles were before,” replied Marjorie, in the most mournful tone.

“Then don’t bother!” returned Lily, cheerfully. “Wear your silver slippers and stockings.”

“With pink georgette? Do you think it would look all right?”

“Yes—it would be stunning!”

“Just as you say,” agreed Marjorie, much relieved to have the matter disposed of. “I wish I had thought of that before—and not wasted a precious half hour with those old slippers!”

Lily stood up, holding a pile of clothing over her arm. She started for the trunk in the hall, but paused at the door.

“Marj, you better ‘waste’ another half hour in a nap, or you’ll be dead. You know as well as I do that tonight’s the biggest thing of the year for us.”

Marjorie smiled contentedly at this reference to the senior dance, which, as Lily had said, was the crowning event of their social career at Miss Allen’s. Later in life, Commencement itself would stand out most clearly in their memory; but now, at the age of eighteen, nothing could exceed the dance in importance. And yet Marjorie was conscious of an indefinable regret about the whole affair, as if already she knew that the realization could not equal the anticipation. The cause of this feeling could be traced to her partner. A month ago, on the spur of the moment, she had invited Griffith Hunter, a Harvard man whom she had met several years before at Silvertown, and whose acquaintance she had kept. But she was sorry not to have asked John Hadley, an older and truer friend.

“Tonight will be wonderful!” she said; “only, do you know, Lil, I do wish I had asked John instead of Griffith.” “I knew you’d be sorry, Marj!” said Lily. “I never could understand why you asked Griffith.”

“I guess it’s because he’s so stunning looking, and I knew he would make a hit with the girls.”

“But John Hadley is good looking, too!”

“But not in the same way Griffith is. And you have so few dances with your partner!”

Smilingly, she threw herself down upon the bed and closed her eyes. Lily was right; she must be fresh for the dance. The class president could not afford to look weary and tired out. In a few minutes she was fast asleep.

The rest, which Marjorie so sadly needed, was the best beautifier the girl could have employed. Had her mind been on such things, her mirror would have told her, as she dressed, that she looked better. Her color was as fresh and pink as the roses she wore at her waist, and her eyes sparkled with greater brilliancy than ever.

Marjorie, modest as she always was, could not but be conscious that the eyes of everyone were turned approvingly towards her as she entered the dance hall on the arm of her handsome partner. When the music of the first dance began, and she started off with Griffith, she felt a thrill of pride at the grace of his dancing. Momentarily, she was glad that she had not invited John; no other young man of her acquaintance possessed all the social requisites to such an extent as Griffith. And, as she had remarked to Lily, they had only three dances together, and practically no intermissions, for as class president, it was her duty and her privilege to act as chief hostess. She tripped around from one group to another, introducing people, talking to everybody, sometimes taking Griffith with her, sometimes leaving him with Doris Sands or Mae Van Horn or Lily—wherever there seemed to be an interesting group. She had no time for strolls in the moonlight between dances, or intimate little tete-a-tetes on the porch; she used every minute of her evening for somebody else. When the last waltz finally started, Griffith declared that he had seen nothing of her during the evening.

“But you haven’t been bored?” she asked, with concern.

“No, indeed!” he replied, with sincerity. “Your friends are all charming!”

It was when they were strolling back to the school that Griffith asked,

“What do you intend to do this summer, Marjorie?”

“I really don’t know,” she replied. “I want to get away somewhere, and get good and strong for college next year.”

“Why not come to Maine?” suggested the young man. “Yes, I’d like that—but I don’t know what papa is planning. It all depends upon him. But he won’t tell me a word.”

“Aren’t the Girl Scouts going camping?” asked Griffith.

“No; the captain, Mrs. Remington, couldn’t go, and at present we have no lieutenant, so we let the whole matter drop. I’m sorry, too, for I know I’m going to miss it all dreadfully.”

“And when do you expect to know your father’s plan?”

“Tomorrow, I hope,” she answered.

They had reached the school now, and they paused at the doorway. Marjorie put out her hand.

“You can’t come tomorrow?” she asked.

“No, I’m sorry,” said Griffith. “I’d love to, but we have a frat meeting. You’ll write?”

“Yes, if you write first. Well, goodnight!”

The young man pressed her hand.

“Goodnight—and thanks for a wonderful evening,” he said.

Marjorie turned about and hurried up the stairs. In spite of the rush and excitement, she was not tired. She wanted to talk it all over, to discuss the girls’ partners and dresses, the music, the flowers, the refreshments. To her joy she found Lily already in their room. She threw her arms about her in ecstasy. “Oh, wasn’t it all wonderful, Lil!” she cried. “Come, let’s sit down and talk it over.”

But, to her astonishment, she found Lily’s mood totally different from her own. The other girl seemed quiet, subdued, happy, but in a dreamy sort of way. And although she agreed with everything Marjorie said, she volunteered very little conversation on her own part. Apparently absorbed in her own thoughts, she began mechanically to undress. Marjorie contemplated her in amusement.

“Lil, I bet you don’t even know what color Doris’s dress was!” she said laughingly. “You’re so in the clouds.”

Lily flushed in admission of the accusation, making no attempt to deny it.

“How many dances did you have with Dick?” pursued Marjorie, teasingly. “More than the law allows, I’ll wager!”

“Why—five or six,” replied Lily. “Really, I didn’t count them.”

“No, I guess you didn’t! Well, suppose we get into bed. I won’t bother you any more—I’ll leave you to your dreams.”

“It isn’t that, Marj,” replied Lily. “But we do need the sleep. Tomorrow’s Commencement, you know.”

Marjorie’s parents were among the first guests to arrive for the exercises. Although too busy to meet each train, the girl kept a constant watch for them from the window of her room. She saw them as soon as they entered the school grounds, and bounded down the stairs, so that she might meet them before they reached the door.

“Jack is waiting for us at the out-door auditorium,” said Mrs. Wilkinson, after they had kissed each other. “He thought that he had better go and reserve seats.”

As Marjorie was all ready for the exercises, except for getting the bouquet of American beauties which John Hadley had sent her, she accompanied her parents across the campus. When they were within sight of the amphitheatre, she recognized her brother Jack, facing her, talking with a man and a woman whose backs were turned in her direction. Something in the manner in which the young man stood, and held his shoulders, gave Marjorie a thrill. It must be—it was—John Hadley!

Jack waved to her across the lawn, and instantly John Hadley turned around and greeted her cordially. In another minute the party was together.

“Perhaps we better get some seats,” suggested Jack. “At least for the ladies.”

The older people sat down, and Marjorie and the two young men stood near them. The former had only a few minutes at her disposal.

“Was your dance dress all right?” asked Mrs. Wilkinson, with motherly concern. At a glance, her experienced eye had taken in every detail of her daughter’s appearance, and she was thoroughly satisfied.

“Lovely! Perfect!” answered the girl, appreciatively. “And so were all the others. I’ll have to go somewhere very gay this summer,” she remarked with a sly, questioning look at her father, “to wear such lovely clothes!”

“Would you prefer Newport or Bar Harbor?” he asked, mischievously.

“Neither, papa, thanks. I’ve had a wonderful time this week, and, in fact all this year; but I’d be perfectly willing not to go to another party all summer. I’ve been gay enough to last a life-time.”

“Well, it certainly hasn’t seemed to hurt you,” observed Mrs. Hadley, looking approvingly at the girl’s pink cheeks.

“No; but too much of it would,” said her father. “Well, perhaps you will like my plans for your summer, then!”

Marjorie seized her father’s arm, and looked pleadingly into his eyes.

“Please tell me, papa! Please!”

“No, I can’t! It wouldn’t be fair to the rest!”

“The rest of whom?” she demanded.

“The rest of the Girl Scouts!”

Marjorie uttered a little gasp of pleasure; it was just what she wanted most of all. How she had dreaded the thought of the separation from her best friends, and the dissolution of that wonderful senior patrol of theirs which had gone together to Canada to represent the Girl Scouts of the whole United States!

“If you’re sure there are scouts in it,” she said, “I won’t ask any more. I’m perfectly satisfied!”

She turned to go, and John asked for permission to stroll back to the building with her. It was the first time he had seen her since the Spring vacation.

“I suppose you are still working hard?” she asked, casually.

“Yes—so—so,” he replied, lightly dismissing her question. He was more interested in the subject she had been discussing with her father.

“Marj, don’t you really know where you are going this summer?” he inquired.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” replied the girl. “I know only just what papa said, which you heard: somewhere with the Girl Scouts.”

“Well, whenever you do go, I wish I could spend my two weeks vacation at the same place!”

“Probably you can, for I don’t think we are going to any girls’ camp, or anything like that.”

“But you might be going to Europe, or California,” he observed.

“No, I wouldn’t want to travel this summer—I’m too tired. And I’m sure mother realizes that, if papa doesn’t.”

John looked at her seriously.

“I wouldn’t be in your way, Marjorie?”

“No indeed!” she replied, heartily. “Let’s make it a bargain! We’ll have our vacation together—provided, of course, your mother is well enough to go.”

“Oh thanks!” he said, fervently.

They had reached the main building now, and Marjorie stopped at the door-step.

“Come see me next Sunday!” she said, cordially. “Lily will be there, and perhaps some more young people.”

“I’d be delighted!” said John, turning to leave her. But he would have preferred to have an invitation for a time when he might see her alone.

Marjorie entered the building, and made her way to the room where the rest of the graduating class were gathered. With a sharp pang of regret she realized that this was the last time they would ever be together as students of Miss Allen’s school. No doubt they would often meet later as alumnae, but it would never be the same. It seemed such a short time since they had entered as freshmen—when she and Ruth Henry had ridden up from their home town together, wondering what it would all be like. She was so thankful that Ruth had not dared to come back to the school after her expulsion from the Girl Scouts the preceding summer; her absence had made the year singularly pleasant and peaceful. Yes, Marjorie Wilkinson had been happy during those four years of boarding school life, and she was sorry that it was all over.

As soon as she had entered the room, Lily rushed forward with her bouquet.

“Marj! You forgot your flowers!”

“Oh, thanks, Lil!” cried the other, gratefully. “And I forgot to thank John, too. But I’ll see him again.”

She arranged the American beauties on her arm, and fell into her place in the procession of girls who were to walk, two by two, to that pretty stage in the wooded part of the campus.

During the first part of the exercises, she kept her eyes steadfastly in front of her, listening with rapt attention to the speaker, as he droned through his dry address. But it did not seem long to her; somehow she wished that he might go on forever, thus, by his act, keeping her a student at Miss Allen’s. But, like everything else, it was over at last, and the principal gave the signal for the singing of the Alma Mater, which was to mark the conclusion of the exercises.

It was then that Marjorie looked about the audience, and allowed her eyes to rest upon John Hadley’s. Dropping them for a moment, she looked at him again, mutely trying to make up for her omission in thanking him.

The young man understood her meaning, and was happy.