Ellen remained on her dignity.  She would have nothing to do either with Marion or the drama, and kept aloof from her classmates generally.

The intelligence had spread through the school that the two graduates had differed over the May piece.  The exact point in dispute was not known, however:  for Marion wished to keep her design a secret, and Ellen would not condescend to explain.  In fact, she did not clearly understand it herself; for she had been too vexed at the proposal to change the plan to listen to what Marion said upon the subject.

During this state of affairs poor Abby was very unhappy.  She felt that she was the cause of all the trouble; and it seemed hard that what she had done with the best of intentions should have made so much ill-feeling.  This disastrous occurrence was followed by another, which made her think herself a very unfortunate little girl.

As has already been explained, it was Larry’s delight to keep always a few fresh blossoms in his pretty vase before the beloved statue of the Blessed Virgin.  This he attended to himself, and no one ever interfered with the vase.  On the day referred to Abby had been rehearsing with Marion, and thus it happened that they walked part of the way home together.  Marion stopped at a florist’s stand and bought a little bunch of arbutus.

“Here, put this on your altar,” she said, giving it to Abby.  She had heard all about the oratory.

When the little girl reached the house Larry had not yet come in, and the flowers had not been renewed that day.

“I’ll surprise him,” she said to herself.  “How pleased he will be to see this nice little bouquet!”

She took the vase, threw away the withered violets it contained, replaced them with the May-flowers, and put it back.  But, alas! being taken up with admiring the delicate pink arbutus, and inhaling its fragrance, she did not notice that she had set the vase in an unsteady position.  The next moment it tipped over, fell to the floor, and lay shattered at the foot of the altar.  Abby stood and gazed at it hopelessly, too distressed even to gather up the fragments.

“Oh, what will Larry say!” she cried, wringing her hands.  “He thought so much of that vase!  What shall I do?”

While she was thus lamenting she heard Larry’s voice.  He was coming straight up to the oratory.  In another minute he threw open the door; he had a little cluster of buttercups in his hand, and was so intent upon putting them in the vase that he was half-way across the room before he noticed the broken pieces on the floor.  When he did so, he stopped and glared at his sister.

“O Larry,” she stammered, contritely, “it was an accident!  See!  Marion Gaines gave me those lovely May-flowers, and I thought you’d be pleased to have them in your vase.  Just as I went to put it back, it fell over.  I’m awfully sorry!”

Larry’s eyes flashed angrily, and his face grew crimson.