d to her height. A little ruffle of lace
surrounded her girlish throat, and on her arm she slipped a gold
bangle, Mrs. Aylmer's latest present. She then ran downstairs to the
drawing-room. In her pretty shoes and silk stockings and well-fitting
dress Florence made quite a graceful figure. She dropped a curtsey at
the door as she was required to do, and then, going forward, took her
place beside Kitty Sharston and Mary Bateman.

These three girls were, according to the rules of the competition, to
entertain their companions. Neither Kitty nor Mary were in the least
self-conscious, and to-night Florence also, in the pressure of a great
misery, contrived to forget herself.

Mrs. Clavering looked at her with distinct approval.

"How that girl has improved," she said, bending towards Sir John
Wallis, who invariably appeared on these occasions. "She will end in
being handsome."

"Yes, she is a distinguished-looking girl," said Sir John, just
glancing at Florence, and then looking away again, "but Kitty is my
choice; give me the little wildflower Kitty. How sweet she is!"

"Well, of course, she belongs to a totally different order of being,"
said Mrs. Clavering, dropping her voice; "but what about the
Scholarship, Sir John?"

"I dare not think of anyone else winning it," said Sir John; "but, of
course, I have to face the fact that either of the other girls may
succeed. Above all things, one must act fairly."

"I just doubted whether you gave a fair subject for the essay," said
Mrs. Clavering.

"What do you mean?"

"Heroism," repeated the head mistress, speaking slowly and dropping her
voice. "With such a subject you appeal so distinctly to the heart. If
the heart does not respond, the essay on Heroism will never be done
justice to."

"Ay, it is the supreme test, the supreme test," said Sir John, slowly.
Again his eyes wandered to Kitty. From her charming, bright, anxious
face he looked at Florence. It so happened that at that moment
Florence had raised her own dark eyes and fixed them on him. The
suffering she had lately lived through had added refinement to her
face, and the baronet caught himself looking at her again and again.

"Yes, she has improved; there is something in her; but what is she so
unhappy about, I wonder?" he thought.

Just then Mary Bateman skipped up, asked his opinion with regard to a
fresh sketch she was making, and carried him away to chat with her in a
corner.

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