that you would
naturally like to have it. I return it to you now, together with these
books, which, to my mingled pride and embarrassment, have been chosen
for your prize. I hope and expect that the time will come when those
present this afternoon may feel _it_ one of their happiest recollections
that they were present on the occasion when Etheldreda Saxon received
her first literary recognition."

Thunderous applause. Dreda walked down the little stairway, carrying
her heavy load of books with the folded manuscript slipped beneath the
cover of the topmost volume. The visitors on either side beamed
congratulations as she passed; on the faces of her school friends was an
expression which she had never seen before--proud and _yet_ awed,
affectionate yet shrinking. It was as if they said to themselves:

"Who is this Dreda who has changed into a genius before our eyes? We
have laughed at her, and made fun of her pretensions, and behold, they
are not pretensions at all--_they are real_! We have been blind. We
have never really known her as she is."

The girls in the second row made way for her as she came, pulling their
skirts aside, and tucking their feet beneath the bench to allow her to
pass along to her seat. She saw each face quite close as she passed
along--Flora, Barbara, Nancy, Norah, Grace--all smiled shyly upon her--
all except one. Norah's eyes remained hard and cold--Norah was not
glad. She wanted Susan to win the prize.

The clapping was dying down, and Mr Rawdon was beginning his promised
address.

"My dear friends--It is my privilege this afternoon--" It was not
possible to listen to an address at this supreme moment of realisation--
even the words of Mr Rawdon himself were a meaningless jargon in
Dreda's ears. Someone tried to take the books from her, but she clung
tightly to the volume containing the precious essay which had brought
this triumph into her life. Such a wonderful essay that on the strength
of it one of the greatest of living authors had confidently prophesied a
worldwide reputation. She, Dreda Saxon, an author whom strange people
talked about, whose name appeared familiarly in newspapers and
magazines! She herself had dreamed of such fairy tales, had expatiated
on their probability to sceptical friends; but now that Mr Rawdon had
prophesied the same thing she was none the less surprised and tremulous.
He who has experienced what the world calls triumph knows well that at
t