"Mr Rawdon has promised to attend our prize-giving on December the nineteenth, and will announce the result of the competition himself, so that nothing can be gained by discussing the matter before then. It will be useless to question me, for I shall know he more than yourselves, and we have the serious work of preparing for examinations before us. Give your whole minds to your work, and don't waste time on useless speculation." "Easier said than done," was Dreda's comment on this exhortation as she walked to the hockey field with Susan after the class was dismissed. "It's easy for The Duck to be calm and cold-blooded; she isn't in it, and doesn't much care how it's decided; but to you and me it means life or death. Susan, tell me exactly how you will feel if my name is read out. Will you hate me with a deadly hatred?" "Dreda, how can you? As if I could ever hate you--as if such a thing were possible!" Susan was breathless with horror, her brown eyes turned reproachfully upon her friend. "Would you hate me?" "Yes," returned Dreda calmly; "I should. At that moment my love would change into gall and bitterness. I should hate the very sight of your face. Of course,"--she drew a deep sigh of complacence--"of course, in the end my better nature would prevail, but I'm so emotional, you know-- my heart is strung by every breath--like an Aeolian harp.--I could not answer for myself for the first few moments, so keep out of my way, darling, if you get the prize, until I have fought my battle and overcome." "I hope you will win, Dreda. I expect you will. All the girls think your essay the best. I should be miserable if I won and you were angry," said little Susan in a low, pained voice. But Dreda was too much occupied with a sudden suspicion to notice the pathos of her attitude. "Do _you_ think it the best?" Susan hesitated painfully; her nature was so transparently honest that she could never succeed in disguising her real sentiments. "I like--bits of it--awfully, Dreda!" "Like the curate's egg. Thanks. But not all?" "Not--equally well, dear." "You think your own is better?" Susan's usually sallow face was flooded with a painful red. "It sounds horribly conceited to say so, Dreda. I wish you hadn't asked. It's only my own opinion, dear. All the others like yours best. I believe it will win. Honestly I do." Dreda walked on in silence, her lips compressed, her back very stiff and erect. She deigned no answer until the pavilion was only a few yards distant, and even then her voice had a strained, unnatural tone. "I think we will not discuss the subject any more. Miss Drake said, if you remember, that she would rather we didn't. We ought to respect her wishes." "I'm sorry," said Susan meekly. She was not the one who had introduced the subject, but she was quite willing to take the blame upon herself, willing to endure any amount of blame if only Dreda would be kind and love her once more.