Why doesn't he get on?" she
whispered testily. "We know all about the conditions of the prize.
What we want to know is--oh, Elinor, I'm horribly disappointed. I was
afraid Doris Leighton would get it, but you ought to have had Honorable
Mention. Griffin's isn't half so good as yours; she said so herself.
Can you see what their canvases are like? I'm just so that the light
glares on them for me. What's that he's saying now? He's talking
about your study."

The words cut the air with an incisive clearness that left no shadow of
a doubt, though Patricia could scarcely credit her own ears.

"I regret to say that the third study on the screen," said Mr. Benton,
toying with his eyeglass ribbon, "is merely placed there as a warning
to students of all classes to stick to their own ideas and
imaginations, and not to attempt the hazardous task of copying stronger
and more experienced workers. This canvas shows so much delicacy of
appreciation of the subject that, had no other of absolutely the same
design been previously turned in earlier, the jury should have given it
the prize. Miss Leighton's cleverly executed study of precisely the
same subject, while more finished in treatment, is far below this one
in feeling, and it is a matter of regret to me that the student who
executed it should not have possessed more originality and
self-reliance. Miss Leighton will please come forward to receive the
Roberts prize."

Of what followed--the bestowing and graceful acceptance of the pretty
purse with the hundred dollars, the congratulations and murmurs of
surprise that ran about the assembly--Patricia had little knowledge.
Those astonishing words of Mr. Benton had so stung and bewildered her
that the room swung about her dizzily and she clutched the back of a
chair for support. Elinor's stricken face faded in the blurred
background of all the other faces, as she flung out vain hands of
protest.

"Oh, it isn't fair--" she broke out, but the words that boomed so
loudly in her ears were only a faint whisper, and she staggered blindly
for a moment.

When she recovered herself in the dim corridor, Elinor, calm and
reassuring, was on one side of her, while her other arm was in the firm
grip of the cheery Griffin.

"That's all right, old pal," Griffin encouraged her. "You're almost
into port now. Keep a stiff upper lip till we land you."

Patricia saw that they were steering for the dressing-room couch, and
meekly allowed