gown waiting, with a white, strained face, until
she heard the girls' steps on the stairs. Then she called Jerry.

"Close the door," she whispered, without further greeting. "I want you
to promise not to tell mother or--or anyone that--I hurt myself. I
didn't hurt myself--_much_, and, anyway, I'm going to be in that play
_if I die_!" Isobel had hard work to keep back the tears.

Jerry was all sympathy. "I won't tell anyone, Isobel, if you don't want
me to. And let me look at your knee--it is your knee, isn't it? I know a
lot about those things 'cause Little-Dad's a doctor, you see." Jerry
knelt by the side of Isobel's chair and gently drew aside the dressing
gown. "Oh, Isobel!" she cried softly. The knee was badly swollen and the
flesh had discolored. "That looks--maybe you ought----"

Isobel jerked away from her. "If you're going to make a fuss you can go
to bed! But if you _know_ anything--oh, it hurts--terribly----"

Without another word Jerry went after hot water and towels. Half through
the night she sat by Isobel's bed, her eyes heavy with sleep, patiently
administering pack after pack. Gradually the pain subsided and Isobel
dropped off into slumber.

All the next day Isobel's secret weighed heavily on Jerry's conscience;
with it, too, was an uncertain admiration for Isobel's grit. But Jerry
wondered if she, even though she might be the Hermia that Isobel was and
wear the rose satin--could want it enough to endure the pain silently.

Isobel had begged to be allowed to stay in bed all day and "rest" and
her mother had willingly acquiesced, carrying her meals to her room and
chatting with her, unsuspecting, while she nibbled at what was on the
tray.

Jerry helped Isobel dress. The pain caused by the effort to stand on the
injured leg brought a deep flush to Isobel's cheeks and tiny purplish
shadows under her pretty eyes, so that she made even a lovelier Hermia
than on the evening before. That knowledge, the murmur of admiration
that swept through the crowded hall, the envy she read on the other
girls' faces, the shy, boyish wonder in Lysander's lingering glance,
helped her through the agony of it all until the very end when, quite
suddenly, she crumpled into Lysander's quickly-outstretched arms! The
last scene had a touch of reality not expected; no one had the presence
of mind to ring down the curtain; the girls and boys rushed pell-mell
upon the stage.

Graham and Dana King carried Isobel to an empty class