listeners. Her long training now stood her in good
stead. Professor Harmon allowed her to go on with her song, instead of
halting her in the middle of it, as he had in the case of the previous
aspirants. When she had finished singing, she was greeted with a round
of genuine applause, the first accorded to a singer since the beginning
of the try-out. The brilliancy of her performance could not be denied,
even by those who had reason to dislike her.

"Excellent, Miss La Salle," was Professor Harmon's tribute, as he handed
her her music. Flushing with pride of achievement, the French girl
returned to her place among the others, tingling with the sweetness of
her success.

There now remained not more than half a dozen untried soloists.
Constance Stevens was among that number. By this time Marjorie was
becoming a trifle anxious. There was just a chance that Connie might be
overlooked. Naturally retiring, she would be quite likely to make no
sign, were Professor Harmon to pass her by, under the impression that
she had already sung. But Marjorie's fears were needless. Constance had
a staunch friend at court. During the try-out Lawrence Armitage's blue
eyes had been frequently directed toward the quiet, fair-haired girl of
his choice. Locked in his boyish heart was a secret knowledge that he
had composed the operetta chiefly because he had wished Constance to
have the opportunity of singing the part of the Princess. He had
consented to the try-out merely to please Professor Harmon. He was
convinced that no other girl could compare with Constance in the matter
of voice. He was glad that she was to sing last, and a smile of proud
expectation played about his mouth as Professor Harmon abruptly cut off
an enterprising senior, the last contestant before Constance, in the
midst of a high note.

The smile quickly faded to an expression of dismay as he saw the
professor rise from the piano, his eyes on his memorandum pad. At the
same instant a faint ripple of consternation was heard from a group of
girls of which Marjorie formed the center. The latter took a hurried
step forward. Marjorie was determined that Connie must not be cheated of
her chance. She had caught a glimpse of Mignon, her black eyes blazing
with insolent triumph and positive joy at the possibility of this
unexpected elimination of the girl she hated.

But Marjorie's intended protest in behalf of her friend was never
uttered. Laurie Armitage had come to the rescue.