There was a marked coolness in Elsie's manner to her cousin the next morning, which Marjorie found decidedly uncomfortable as well as perplexing, but even Elsie was not proof against the weakness of curiosity, and after a few veiled hints, which Marjorie quite failed to understand, she finally softened, and demanded a full account of yesterday's doings, which her cousin was only too glad to give.

"Tell me about Lulu Bell," said Elsie, when Marjorie had reached the part of her story where they had arrived at New Haven, and gone to lunch at the hotel restaurant. "Did Beverly Randolph pay her a lot of attention?"

"Why, no, I don't think so," said Marjorie, innocently, "at least not any more than he paid to any of us. He was very polite to everybody, and I think he's the nicest boy I've ever met."

"Probably that is because you have never met many people except Mexicans and Indians," remarked Elsie sarcastically.

Marjorie, who had a quick temper of her own, flushed angrily, and was just going to say something sharp when Mrs. Carleton called them to get ready for church. Sunday was always a homesick day with Marjorie; there was not so much to do as on week-days, and she generally wrote a long home letter in the afternoon. Mr. Carleton had returned in time for breakfast, but it was not until after luncheon that Marjorie succeeded in getting him to herself. Then he proposed taking a walk, and asked the girls to accompany him. Elsie protested that she was too tired after the exertions of yesterday, but Marjorie gladly accepted her uncle's invitation, and it was during that walk that she told her little story, concealing nothing not even the battle royal with the brutal driver. Mr. Carleton could not help smiling over his niece's account of that affair, although he grew grave again in a moment, and told Marjorie she must never interfere in such a case. But he saw nothing wrong in her having accepted Mrs. Randolph's invitation.

"I daresay your aunt is right in wishing you to consult her before accepting invitations as a rule," he said, "but in this case I really don't see how you could have acted differently. The Randolphs are charming people, and it was very kind of them to offer to take you with them. It would have been scarcely courteous to refuse."

Marjorie returned from her walk with a much lighter heart, and in writing a long and detailed account of the game to her father, she quite forgot to worry over Elsie's sulks, or Aunt Julia's warnings.

When the two girls arrived the next morning at the building where Miss Lothrop held her daily classes, they found several of their classmates gathered in an eager group, all talking fast and earnestly.

"The most interesting thing is going to happen," announced Gertie Rossiter, pouncing upon the two new arrivals. "Lulu is getting up a club, and she wants us all to join."

"What sort of a club?" inquired Elsie, doubtfully.

"Oh, an awfully nice one. It's to meet at our different houses on Friday evenings, and we are to sew for the poor for the first hour, and dance and play games the rest of the evening."

"I don't believe I should care to join," said Elsie, indifferently, as she took off her hat, and smoothed out her crimps; "I hate sewing."

"So do I, but the sewing is only for the first hour, and the rest will be such fun. The boys will be invited to come at nine and stay till half-past ten."

"Boys!" repeated Elsie her face brightening; "are there to be boys in the club, too?"

"Yes, but of course they can't sew, so Lulu is going to put them on the amusement committee. My brother Rob is going to be asked, and Bessie's two cousins, and any others we can think of. You'll be sorry if you don't join, Elsie; it's going to be splendid."

"I never said I wasn't going to join," said Elsie loftily, and sauntering over to the window where Lulu Bell and several other girls were still in earnest conversation, she inquired with an air of would-be indifference:

"What's all this about a club somebody is getting up?"

"It's Lulu," said Winifred Hamilton, proudly; "she thought of it yesterday and we all think it's such a good idea."

"The first meeting is to be held at my house next Friday evening," Lulu explained, "and every member has got to read an original poem."

"What for?" demanded Elsie, beginning to look rather blank. "I don't see what poems have to do with a sewing club."

"Oh, we all have to be initiated," said Lulu, "the way college boys are, you know, and the way we are going to initiate is to make everybody write a poem. It needn't be more than eight lines, and it doesn't matter what it's about, so long as it's poetry. It will be such fun reading the poems and deciding which is the best. The one who writes the best poem is to be president of the club. It will be decided by vote."

"I think the club sounds very interesting," said Elsie, with a little air of condescension, "but if I were you I would give up the initiation; it's so silly."

"Oh, the initiation is half the fun!" cried Lulu and Bessie both together, and Lulu, who was not very fond of Elsie, added with decision:

"Any one who isn't willing to take the trouble to write a poem can't join the club."

"I am sure I have no objection to writing a poem," said Elsie, shrugging her shoulders. "It's perfectly simple; I could write one every week if I chose, but it's so foolish."

Bessie and Gertie looked at each other, and Gertie formed the word "brag" with her lips, but did not say it aloud. Marjorie saw the look that passed between the two girls, and her cheeks grew suddenly hot.

Elsie was certainly very clever, but she could not help feeling that it would be better taste on her cousin's part not to talk about it.

"I wish I found it easy to write a poem," said Winifred, mournfully. "I never made a rhyme in my life, but Lulu says I've got to try. She made me write a story once when we were little girls, and it was the most awful nonsense you ever heard. Have you ever written a poem, Marjorie?"

"Only a few silly doggerels. One of my aunt's favorite games is capping verses, and we used sometimes to play it on winter evenings."

Just then more girls arrived, and in a few moments Miss Lothrop rang her bell, and school began.

"Well, Marjorie, what do you think of the idea of the club?" Elsie inquired of her cousin, as the two were walking home from school together that day.

"I think it will be splendid," declared Marjorie, heartily. "Lulu must be a clever girl to have thought of such a plan, especially of the initiation. I am sure the poems will be great fun."

"They won't amount to anything," said Elsie, with her superior smile. "Nobody will write a decent poem, and I do hate poetry that isn't really good. Papa would never allow me to learn anything but the classics."

"Lulu says we mustn't read our poems to any one until the night of the initiation," said Marjorie. "I know yours will be splendid, Elsie; you are so clever."

Elsie smiled, well pleased by the compliment, and added rather irrelevantly:

"I asked Lulu why she didn't invite Beverly Randolph to join the club. He hasn't many friends in New York and might enjoy it. She says he is older than any of the other boys, but she would be glad to have him if he cares to join, so I am to ask him and let her know to-morrow. The boys are not to be initiated, because they are only the amusement committee, but they are all to come to the first meeting, and vote on the poems."

Nothing more was said on the subject just then, but Elsie was careful to deliver the message to Beverly that evening, and the invitation was readily accepted.

"The girl who writes the best poem is to be president, you know," Elsie explained, with her sweetest smile. "You must be sure to come to the first meeting and vote for the one you like best."

"I am afraid I'm not very well up on poetry," said Beverly, laughing. "It's a lucky thing the boys aren't expected to write poems as well as the girls; I am sure I should disgrace myself hopelessly if I were to attempt anything original."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't," Elsie protested. "You have no idea how easy it really is. Of course some of the poems will be dreadfully silly, but you don't have to vote for them."

It was Thanksgiving week, so school closed on Wednesday, not to open again till the following Monday. Elsie had several invitations for the holidays, but Marjorie, whose New York acquaintances were still limited to the girls at Miss Lothrop's, had only the first meeting of the Club on Friday evening to which to look forward. She wrote her poem on Wednesday evening, while Elsie was at a theater party, and although far from satisfied with it, decided that it would have to do, as she had several hard lessons to prepare for Monday, and there was no more time for writing poetry.

"Of course it won't be nearly as good as Elsie's," she told herself cheerfully. "She is sure to be voted president."

She had asked her cousin that evening if she had written her poem, and Elsie had replied carelessly that there was plenty of time, and she would probably do it to-morrow.

"It really isn't worth bothering about," she had added, with some scorn; "it won't take me half an hour."

The next day was Thanksgiving, and the Carletons and their niece were invited to a family dinner at Mrs. Lamont's. Elsie spent a long time in her room that afternoon, and came out looking rather cross. Marjorie, going into her cousin's room for something later in the day, noticed that the waste-paper basket was full of torn papers.

"I wonder if she can be having trouble with her poem," Marjorie thought innocently, but when she questioned Elsie on the subject, that young lady colored angrily, and replied that of course she wasn't, and she did wish people would stop talking about that silly Club; she was sick of the subject and had a great mind not to join at all.

The dinner at the Lamonts was very pleasant, and Marjorie could not help being conscious of the fact that she looked unusually well in her new dress. Every one was kind to the little Western girl, and she liked Mrs. Lamont and her daughter better than ever. The Ward family were also of the party, and Marjorie was introduced to the Yale boy, Percy, whom she found most agreeable, though not, as she wrote her mother afterward, quite so nice as Beverly Randolph.

"Why didn't you tell me what a jolly girl Marjorie Graham was?" Percy demanded of Elsie, when the cousins were alone together for a moment after dinner.

Elsie flushed.

"I didn't know you'd like her," she said, evasively. "She's dreadfully young for her age, and not a bit like the New York girls."

"Well, she's all right anyway," maintained Percy. "I only wish I'd known about her in time to get another ticket for the game last Saturday. But she went with some other friends, didn't she?"

"Oh, yes, she went," said Elsie, with a rather sarcastic smile. "She got some people at the hotel to take her in their car. You needn't worry about Marjorie; she knows how to take care of herself."

Elsie spent another hour in her room on Friday morning, and was so cross and disagreeable at luncheon, that Marjorie wondered more and more what the matter could possibly be. But in the afternoon Elsie cheered up, and her cousin came to the conclusion that whatever the trouble had been, it was evidently over.

The meeting was to begin at eight o'clock, so immediately after an early dinner, the two girls, accompanied as usual by Hortense, started in the carriage for Lulu's home, which was on Madison Avenue, only a few blocks away.

Lulu was a charming little hostess, and gave her friends a cordial greeting, explaining that her mother and aunt would come down later, but it had been a stipulation with some of the Club members that nobody grown up was to hear the poems or take part in the initiation. Several of Miss Lothrop's girls had already arrived, and there were also present a few more young people, particular friends of Lulu's, who had been invited to join the Club.

"I want you to meet my friend, Betty Randall," Lulu said to Marjorie, as Elsie turned away to speak to other friends. "She's English, and just as nice as can be. She and her mother and brother are visiting us. She can't be a member, because they are all going back to England next week, but she and Jack are the special guests of the evening, and they are both to be allowed to vote on the poems."

Betty Randall was a quiet, sweet-faced girl of fifteen, and Marjorie liked her at once.

"Have you been in this country long?" she asked, when Lulu had left them together, and gone to greet other arriving guests. She could not help feeling a good deal interested in meeting "a real English girl."

"Only since September," Betty answered, "but we used to live in New York. My mother is English, but she and my father came to this country when they were married, and my brother and I were both born in New York. We lived here until four years ago, when my uncle took us back to England to live with him."

"I should think it would be wonderfully interesting to live in England," said Marjorie. "I suppose of course you have been in London, and seen the Tower and Westminster Abbey?"

"Oh, yes," said Betty, smiling. "One of my uncle's places is quite near London, and we often motor into town. I like America, though; it always seems more like home. Do you know the names of all these girls?"

"I know most of them; we go to the same school, but I haven't been in New York nearly as long as you have. My home is in Arizona, and I have only come here to spend the winter, and go to school with my cousin."

Betty looked a little disappointed.

"Then I suppose you can't tell me something I want to know very much," she said. "Lulu told me Dr. Randolph's nephew was to be here, and I do want to see him."

"Oh, I can point him out to you," said Marjorie. "He lives at the Plaza, where my uncle has an apartment, and Elsie and I know him very well. There he is, that tall boy, who has just come in. Isn't he handsome?"

"Yes, very," agreed Betty, regarding the new arrival with considerable interest. "I never met him, but his uncle was such a good friend to us once."

"I know Dr. Randolph, too," said Marjorie; "he took us to New Haven in his car to see the game last Saturday. He is very kind."

"Kind!" repeated Betty, with shining eyes; "he is more than kind, he is wonderful. He cured my brother, and made him walk, when he had been a cripple all his life."

Marjorie gave a little gasp, and some of the color went out of her face.

"Tell me about it," she said, clasping her hands, and regarding her new acquaintance with such an eager expression in her eyes, that Betty was quite startled.

"It was before we went back to England," she said. "We were living here in New York, and Winifred Hamilton and her father and mother had an apartment in the same house. My mother was taken very ill, and Winifred went for Lulu Bell's father, whom you know is a doctor. He was very good to us, and while attending mother he became very much interested in my brother, who was nine years old then, and had never walked a step since he was born. He brought Dr. Randolph to see Jack, and he felt sure something could be done for him, and persuaded Mother to let him be taken to a hospital. Mother consented, and Dr. Randolph performed a wonderful operation."

"And does your brother walk now?" Marjorie asked almost breathlessly.

"There he is," said Betty, smiling, and pointing to a tall boy of thirteen, who was standing near the door, talking to Winifred Hamilton. "You would never believe that he was a helpless cripple only four years ago, would you?" she added proudly.

"No, indeed," said Marjorie; "it seems very wonderful. Do you suppose Dr. Randolph often performs such operations?"

"I think so. Dr. Bell says he is one of the finest surgeons in the country. Why are you so much interested? Do you know some one who is a cripple, too?"

"Yes," said Marjorie, with a sigh. "It's my aunt; she had a terrible accident eight years ago, and has never walked since. But she is away in Arizona; we could never ask Dr. Randolph to go all that distance to see her."

"No, I suppose not," Betty admitted regretfully, "but couldn't your aunt be brought here to him? I know people come from all parts of the country to consult him. There was a little girl at the hospital when Jack was there, who had been brought all the way from Texas."

Marjorie thought of the long three-days journey, and of her father's desperate struggle to make both ends meet, but before she could answer, Lulu, as mistress of ceremonies—rapped sharply on the table, and the Club was called to order.