and the outlines of her eyelids, if very closely scrutinized, would have revealed successful experimentation with a burnt match.
Marjorie's lovely eyes dilated: she learned the meaning of hatred at first sight. Observing the stranger with instinctive suspicion, all at once she seemed, to herself, awkward. Poor Marjorie underwent that experience which hearty, healthy, little girls and big girls undergo at one time or another—from heels to head she felt herself, somehow, too thick.
Fanchon leaned close to Penrod and whispered in his ear:
"Don't you forget!"
Penrod blushed.
Marjorie saw the blush. Her lovely eyes opened even wider, and in them there began to grow a light. It was the light of indignation;—at least, people whose eyes glow with that light always call it indignation.
Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, approached Fanchon, when she had made her courtesy to Mrs. Schofield. Fanchon whispered in Roderick's ear also.
"Your hair is pretty, Roddy! Don't forget what you said yesterday!"
