vieve.

There was a long silence. Genevieve's eyes were out the window. Mrs.
Kennedy, watching her, suddenly spoke up with careless briskness:

"Of course you'll tell Cordelia that 'twas _your_ subject, that _you_
got it first, and that _you_ want it. Very likely she won't care much,
anyway."

"Why, Aunt Julia, she will! If you could have seen her face when she
talked of it--" Genevieve stopped abruptly. Genevieve _did_ suddenly see
Cordelia's face as it had been that afternoon, all aglow with happiness.
She heard her eager voice say, too: "I think it's the best thing I ever
did!"

"Oh, well, but maybe she doesn't care for the prize," observed Mrs.
Kennedy, still carelessly.

"But, Aunt Julia, she does; she--" Again Genevieve stopped abruptly. She
was remembering now how Cordelia's face had looked that February
afternoon at the parsonage when she had said: "Of course I sha'n't win
it--dear me, how I would love to, though!"

"But she'll understand, of course, when you tell her it's _your_ subject
and that _you_ want it," went on Mrs. Kennedy, smoothly. Genevieve did
not see the keen, almost fearful glances, that Mrs. Kennedy was giving
her between the light words.

"I know; but that sounds so--so--" There was a long pause; then
Genevieve, with a quivering sigh, rose slowly and left the room.

Mrs. Kennedy, for some unapparent reason, smiled--but there were tears
in her eyes.

The Hexagon Club took a long ride the next day. Five of them talked
again of Cordelia's paper, and four begged Cordelia to tell what she had
said about them. If Genevieve, alone, was unusually silent, nobody,
apparently, noticed it. They were riding by themselves to-day. They had
invited none of the boys or other girls to join them.

It was when the ride was over, and when Genevieve had almost reached the
Kennedy driveway, that she said wistfully, stroking the mare's neck:

"Topsy, I just couldn't. I just couldn't! It sounded so--so--And, Topsy,
_you_ couldn't, if you'd seen how awfully happy she looked!"

"What did Cordelia say?" asked Mrs. Kennedy, when Genevieve came into
the house a little later. There was no hint in the lady's voice of the
hope that was in her heart.

"I--I didn't tell her, Aunt Julia," stammered Genevieve. Then, with a
playful whimsicality that did not in the least deceive Aunt Julia's
ears, she added: "Who wants that old prize, anyhow?"

It was a beautiful smile, then, that illumined Aunt Julia's face, and it