"Don't say humiliation, Dreda," cried Susan tremulously. "Don't, dear; I can't bear it. It was dreadful for you; but there was no humiliation. There was nothing--nothing of which you could be ashamed. Your essay was very good, too; it has been mentioned as one of the best." But Dreda was not in the mood to accept comfort. She was miserable, and she intended to be miserable in a thorough, systematic fashion, so that for the moment alleviations seemed rather to irritate than to cheer-- "My essay was only one of the best four. That's nothing. Except our three selves and Barbara Morton, there's not another girl in the school who can write a decent essay to save her life. The others were all as dull and stupid as could be. You have seen them, and know that that's true. If mine was only the fourth best, that's no praise at all. Mr Rawdon made no special mention of any but yours, except when he--_Oh- h_!" Dreda's voice shrilled with sudden panic; she dropped her cake on to her plate and clasped her hands together, staring before her with wide, startled eyes. "Oh-h! Do you remember? He said that he had been _amused_ by one of the four essays. His lips twitched, and he tried not to laugh. Amused at the `high-flown eloquence.' That was the expression--wasn't it? High-flown eloquence! That means rubbish, of course--bombastic, stupid, exaggerated rubbish! Girls, _that was mine_! I feel it--I know it! Susan, you know it, too. You wouldn't say that it was good, even when I asked you straight out. You were too honest to say `Yes.' Oh! I am not angry. You needn't look so miserable. It was true, and down at the very, very bottom of my heart I knew it myself. When I thought I had won the prize I was only really happy for a few minutes; after that I grew frightened, for I knew it was a mistake, and that I was not really a genius at all, only a rather sharp-witted girl, a ready girl,"--she gave a dreary little laugh--"who could pick up other people's ideas, and string them together as if they were her own. The girls weren't clever enough to know the real from the sham, but Mr Rawdon knew it at once. He saw how--how--" (she paused, groping in her extensive vocabulary for a word to express her meaning) "how _meretricious_ it was! He was--_amused_!" The last word came with an involuntary quiver of pain, and there was silence round the impromptu tea-table. Dreda saw without surprise that the tears were rolling down Susan's cheeks--it seemed natural that Susan should cry. What did give her a real shock of surprise was to hear a sound of subdued snuffling on her right, and on turning her head to behold the imperturbable Nancy suspiciously red about the eyes and nose. "Nancy!" she cried involuntarily. "You are crying! I never believed that it was possible that you _could_ cry! Why are you crying, Nancy? Is it about--_me_?" But Nancy only jerked the tea-tray, tossing her head the while in her most nonchalant fashion.