"I have thought it all out," answered Mary, "and I cannot do more than my best. If I succeed I shall be truly, truly glad. If I fail I shall be no worse off than I was before. I wish you would feel as I do about it, Florry, and not make yourself quite ill over the subject. The fact is you are not half as nice as you were last term when everyone called you Tommy." "Oh, I know, I know," answered Florence, "but I cannot go back now. What do you think the theme for the Scholarship will be?" "I have not the slightest idea. That theme will be Kitty's strong point; there is not the slightest doubt about that." Florence bent again over her French exercise. She was fairly good at French, and her German was also passable, but as she read and worked and struggled through a difficult piece of translation her thoughts wandered again and again to the subject of the English theme. What would it be? History, poetry, or anything literary? The more she thought, the less she liked the idea of this supreme test. Dinner passed, and the moment for the reassembling of the school for afternoon work arrived. Just as all the girls were streaming into the large schoolroom, Mrs. Clavering came hurriedly forward. "Before you begin your duties this afternoon, young ladies," she said, "I have received a communication from Sir John, and as you are all interested in the Scholarship, which may be offered another year to some further girls of Cherry Court School, I may as well say that I have just received a letter from him suggesting the theme for the essay. I will repeat to you what he has said." Mrs. Clavering stood beside her desk and looked down the long school-room. The room contained at this moment every girl in the school, also the teachers. Florence glanced in the direction of Bertha Keys. She was standing just where a ray of light from one of the windows caught the reflection of her red hair, which surrounded her pale face like a glory. She wore it, not in the fashion of the day, but in an untidy and yet effective style. The girls of the day wore their hair neatly plaited and smooth to their heads. One of Mrs. Clavering's special objections to Bertha was her untidy head. She often longed to ask her to get a brush and smooth out those rough locks. Nevertheless, that very roughness of her hair gave her face a look of power, and several girls gazed at her now half fascinated. Bertha's light blue eyes flashed one glance in Florence's direction, and were then lowered. She liked best to keep her most secret thoughts to herself. Mrs. Clavering glanced round the room, and then, opening Sir John's letter, spread it out before her. "I will read you my friend's letter aloud," she said; "you will all clearly understand what he says." She then proceeded to read: