entirely by students.

Anne was engrossed over a selection of patterns at the counter in the back
of the store. She was to play Celia, and Norma was Rosalind. Charity
always said that Norma's profile and long corn-colored hair brought her
more undeserved honors than any qualities of excellence she possessed.

"I'm so glad you came along just now," sighed Anne. "Mother says I ought
to dress very simply, but a Duke's daughter would have even a stuff dress
cut in fashion, wouldn't she? Besides, I can show a lot of taste in my
cap. Norma's got a perfectly wonderful cloak made of a dark green felt
piano cover."

Kit helped her select a dull violet goods, with white underslip that
showed through the slashes in the sleeves. Anne had been hovering over an
old rose that absolutely killed any glint of color in her light brown
hair.

"Never, never," warned Kit, "let old rose come near you, if you've got
freckles or sandy hair. Don't you notice, Anne, how I cling to all the
soft pastel nondescript tones? That's because my eldest sister is an
artist, and we all have to live up to it more or less now. When Jean wants
a new dress she slips away and communes with nature, until she's hit the
right tone values. You should have seen her face one day when some one
asked Doris her favorite color, and she said, 'plaid.'"

"We're going to be late to rehearsal," Anne declared with a sigh, as they
rose to leave.

"We are late now," rejoined Kit, cheerfully. "They'll prize us all the
more if we keep ourselves kind of scarce. Rex told me to order walnut
sundae for him, and wait until he comes back."

Just at this moment Anne laid her finger on her lips and glanced
impressively at a table on the other side of the room. There sat Amy with
Peggy Porter and Norma, all of them dreamily imbibing ice cream sodas,
just as though Shakespearian rehearsals were occasions unknown in their
engagement calendars.

Kit rose and crossed the room with caution until she stood behind Amy and
intoned sepulchrally from Macbeth:

"What ho! Ye secret, black and midnight hags, what is't ye do?"

CHAPTER XVII

HOPE'S PRIMROSE PATH

"Well, we waited fifteen minutes for you," protested Amy, laughingly, "and
Norma had to come down-town to try and find some high boots like Julia
Marlowe wore for Rosalind. She's had that old picture of her pinned up on
the wall for two weeks."

"Oh, and listen, Kit," Norma broke in; "you know that suede brown leath