It was not known even yet who should receive the wreath. Each girl was expected to do her best, and after all had taken part, the Goddess would make the award. Of course it was arranged beforehand who should have it, but, as this was not known, each secretly hoped for it. At last the day of the great event arrived. The entertainment would begin at eight o’clock, but the girls were requested to be at the school at half-past seven. Some of them dressed at home and came all ready for the stage, but those who had more elaborate or eccentric costumes brought them with them and dressed at the school. Betty dressed at home, for her sailor suit could easily be worn under a light coat. She went with a heavy heart, for, though she had scolded herself for being a silly, and had forced herself to make believe she didn’t mind, yet when the evening arrived, and she saw many of the other girls in glittering, fanciful dresses, she felt again the bitter disappointment of her plain little frock. “Remember, Betty girl,” said her mother, as they separated, Betty to go to the school-room and Mrs. McGuire to the audience-room, “you must make your success by your own work to-night. The others may have beautiful trappings, but you must win out by your really good work in declamation. Win the hearts of the audience by your pathetic story of Grace Darling’s work, and you may represent the part better than those who have elaborate costumes do theirs.” Betty smiled, knowing her mother’s advice was good, and yet unable to repress a little feeling of envy as she saw the resplendent figures all around her. But she could and did help showing it. She went about among the girls, helping one or another to adjust her adornments, or prompting some one who was frantically rehearsing her lines. “I can prompt any of you, if you need it,” said Betty, laughing, “for I do believe I know every line of this whole play. I didn’t try to learn it, but I’ve heard it so often, it sticks in my head.” At eight o’clock Miss Whittier marshaled them in order to go on the stage. Of course the curtain was still down, as the Goddess had not yet taken her place, but after its rising the others were to enter one by one and address themselves to the arbiter of their fates. They waited, almost breathlessly, in the hush that always comes before the lifting of a curtain. “Where is Constance Harper?” asked Miss Whittier, in a whisper, of another teacher. “I don’t know,” was the reply. “I supposed, of course, she was here. She said she’d dress at home, as her robe is so frail, and that she’d be here, all ready to go on the stage, at quarter to eight.” “Dear me,” thought Betty, “Constance is nearly always late, but I thought she’d be on time to-night.” Of course, at such entertainments, no one is greatly surprised if the performance is a little delayed, but the absence of Constance seemed ominous to Miss Whittier.