rong, clear,
soprano voice, three years under the direction of competent instructors
had done much for her, and, although she was far too selfish to use her
fine voice merely to give pleasure to others, she never allowed an
opportunity to pass wherein she might win public approval by her
singing.

The mere fact that "The Rebellious Princess" was Lawrence Armitage's own
composition served to spur her on to conquest. Given the leading role,
she believed that she might awaken in the young man a distinct
appreciation of herself which hitherto he had never demonstrated toward
her. Once she had brought him to a tardy realization of her superiority
over Constance Stevens, by outsinging the latter, along with all the
other contestants, she was certain that admiration for herself as a
singer would blot out any unpleasant impression he might earlier have
conceived of her. She had heard that "the Stevens girl" could sing. It
was to be doubted, however, if her voice amounted to much. Another point
in her favor lay in the fact that Professor Harmon was a close friend of
her father. He would surely give her the preference.

But while she dreamed of triumphantly holding the center of the stage
before a spellbound audience, her rival to be, Constance Stevens, was
seriously debating within herself regarding the wisdom of even entering
the contest. Of a distinctly retiring nature, Constance was not eager to
enter the lists. On the Friday afternoon before the try-out she was
still undecided, and when the afternoon session of school was over, and
she and the five girls with whom she spent most of her leisure hours
were walking down the street, headed for Sargent's and its never-failing
supply of sweets, she was curiously silent amid the gay chatter of her
friends.

"I suppose you girls know that our dear Mignon has designs on the
Princess," announced Jerry Macy, with the elaborate carelessness of one
who gives forth important news as the commonest every-day matter.

"Mignon!" exclaimed Marjorie Dean in amazement. "I never even knew she
could sing."

"She thinks she can," shrugged Muriel Harding. "Goodness knows she ought
to. She has studied for ages. I'm surprised to hear that she is going to
enter the try-out, considering it's Laurie's operetta. You know just how
much he likes her. She knows, too."

"Who told you, Jerry?" quizzed Susan Atwell. "The way you gather news
is positively marvelous. Was it big brother Hal?"

"No, he doe