ask you if I might understudy the Princess. Of
course, I know that I can't sing as Miss Stevens sings, and I wouldn't
for the world wish anything to happen to prevent her from singing on the
great night, but I am so fond of music that it would be a pleasure to
understudy the role. I shouldn't like anyone to know that I was doing
so, though. It is just a fancy on my part."

"Certainly you may, Miss La Salle," was the professor's hearty response.
"Your idea is excellent. It is a mistake, even in an amateur production,
not to provide an understudy for an important role, such as Miss Stevens
will sing. I must provide an understudy for Mr. Macy, and others of the
cast, also. But you are too modest in your request that no one else must
know. I am sure Mr. Armitage will be pleased with your suggestion."

"Oh, please don't tell him!" exclaimed Mignon. A shade of alarm crossed
her dark face, which was not lost on the professor's companion, Ronald
Atwell. A mere acquaintance of Professor Harmon's, he had lately arrived
in Sanford, at the close of a season as leading man in a popular musical
comedy, to visit a cousin. Brought up in that hard school of experience,
the stage, he was an adept at reading signs, and he was by no means
deceived as to the true character of the girl who stood before him. Far
from being displeased with his deductions, he became mildly interested
in her and mentally characterized her as being worth cultivating. He had
watched her during the try-out, and he had glimpsed her true self in
the varying expressions that animated her dark face. He had attended the
try-out on the polite invitation of Professor Harmon, and at the
latter's earnest solicitation had agreed to take charge of the stage
direction of the operetta. The professor had congratulated himself on
obtaining such valuable assistance, while the actor looked upon the
affair as a pastime which would serve to lighten his stay with his
rather dull cousin. He had come to Sanford for a period of relaxation
before going to New York to begin rehearsals with a summer show, and the
prospect of directing the operetta promised to be amusing.

"Very well, I will say nothing," promised the professor amiably. He had
come to the try-out, hoping to see the daughter of his friend capture
the role of the Princess, but the enthusiasm of the artist had driven
that hope from his mind when he had heard Constance sing. Now he dwelt
only on the success of the operetta, and