those Sunday afternoons with a shadow of regret, for her feet found a
sweeter, holier path. Marie prided herself on a little tinge of
scepticism, but they rarely touched on that ground. The twilight shadows
gathered about the old piano in the corner, and the pictures grew dimmer
on the wall, and Marie would play soft love-songs on her guitar, and
sometime Beth would recite one of her poems.

"Have you finished the novel you were writing last summer, Beth?" asked
Marie, one day.

"No, there are just three more chapters, and I am going to leave them
till holidays, next summer, so I can give them my full time and
attention."

"Tell me the story."

Then Beth sat by the fire with a dreamy look on her face and told the
plot of her story. Marie leaned forward, a bright, delighted sparkle in
her dark eyes. Beth had never interested her like that before. She felt
encouraged, and Marie was in raptures when she had finished.

"It's just splendid! Oh, Beth, how clever you are; you will be famous
soon. I shall be proud of your friendship."

Beth did not enjoy as much of the company of Clarence as she had hoped
during these days, though he always brought her home from church on
Sunday evening. Marie was always with them. Beth never thought of
leaving her, and Clarence, too, seemed to enjoy her company. Beth was
pleased at this; she liked to have Clarence appreciate her friends.
Then, they three often went to the musical concerts; Beth liked those