e Lloyd Sherman's kind. She just naturally does the
right thing in the right place, and there's no occasion for her being a
copy-cat. That's what Jack calls me. Jack is my brother."

Madam laughed again, such an appreciative, friendly laugh, that Mary
joined in, wondering how the other girls could think her cold and
unapproachable. It seemed to her that Madam was one of the most
responsive and sympathetic listeners she had ever had, and it moved her
to go on with her confidences.

"Jack says I am not built on the same lines as the Princess. Princess
Winsome is one of our names for Lloyd. And he says it is ridiculous for
me to try to do things the way she does. He is always quoting Epictetus
to me: 'Were I a nightingale I would act the part of a nightingale; were
I a swan, the part of a swan.' He says that trying to copy her is what
makes me just plain goose so much of the time."

Madam Chartley, long accustomed to reading girls, knew that it was not
vanity or egotism which prompted these confessions, only a girlish
eagerness to be measured by her highest ideals and not by appearances.
She saw at a glance the possibilities of the material that lay here at
her hand. Out of it might be wrought a strong, helpful character such as
the world always needs, and such as she longed to send out with every
graduate who passed through her doors. Many things were awaiting her
attention elsewhere, but she lingered to extend their acquaintance a
trifle further.

"You know Lloyd Sherman well, I believe," she said. "I remember that you
gave Mrs. Sherman as one of your references when you applied for
admission to the school, and I had a highly satisfactory letter from her
about you in reply to my inquiry. Now that we speak of it I am reminded
that Lloyd added a most enthusiastic post-script concerning you."

Mary's face flushed with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful.
"Oh, did she?" she cried eagerly. "We've been friends always, even with
half a continent between us. Our mothers were school-mates. Lloyd was
more Joyce's friend than mine at first, because they are nearer of an
age. (Joyce is my sister. She's an artist now in New York City, and we
think she's going to be famous some day. She does such beautiful
designing.) Lloyd has been my model ever since I was eleven years old.
I'd rather be like her than anybody I ever knew or read of, so I don't
mind Jack calling me a copy-cat for trying. One of the reasons I wanted
to co