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But Madeline had suffered too much from Mary to have any mercy upon her now.

“Don’t be sentimental, Mary,” she said, “and give me back that paper. I won’t read it aloud—honor bright.”

Mary shook her head. “No, and”—her voice quivered—“I don’t think you ought to have asked, Madeline.”

“Don’t you?” asked Madeline coolly. “Well, I presume I haven’t a very high code of honor, but, leaving that aside for the moment, I know Georgia, and I’m sure that she’d be pleased and proud to have one of her stories read aloud at a select gathering of juniors like this. And as for my seeing it, I’ve seen every word that Georgia has written this year excepting this story and the poem she sent you before.”

“Well then,” began Mary, obviously weakened by Madeline’s calm argument, “I suppose there wouldn’t be any great harm in your reading it. But you’d better wait and let her show it to you herself.”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Roberta, finding her voice again. She would almost as soon have had her story read aloud as subjected to Madeline’s cool, merciless laughter. “I think the meanest thing of all is to show a girl’s best friends how silly she is,” concluded Roberta fiercely.