"Yes, she is a very pretty girl," she replied, rather carelessly, then paused, as Malcolm Dean lifted his hand for silence, and said in the hush that followed: "Will Miss Lester please come forward and receive the prize?" A wild impulse came to Devereaux to escort Liane forward. How proud he would be to take that little fluttering hand and lead her to the rostrum to receive the award! He knew that every eye would be on them, that it would be a virtual declaration of his sentiments toward her, but he gloried in the thought. He rose quickly, exclaiming: "Excuse me, please!" But Mrs. Clarke's voice, cold and grating, fell on his ear: "Please escort Roma to the open air--to the carriage! Do you not see that she is almost fainting?" Roma was indeed drooping heavily against her mother, in pretended weakness. Her ruse had its effect. Jesse had to offer his arm and lead her from the room, followed by her mother. After some little delay their carriage was found, and, while placing them in it, Mrs. Clarke said coolly: "Now if you will find my husband and send him to us, you will add greatly to the obligation you have placed us under." He bowed silently and hurried away, meeting Mr. Clarke, fortunately, coming out. A hasty explanation, and they parted, Devereaux returning to the room, wild to speak to Liane after all this baffling delay. But the prize had been presented, and Liane was surrounded by an obsequious crowd, offering eager congratulations. By her side stood the handsome young artist, Malcolm Dean, gazing with rapt admiration on her shy, blushing face, and then Devereaux remembered that the artist had said, while they were deciding on the pictures that afternoon, that this was surely the fairest face in the whole world, and he should not rest until he knew the original. "If the counterfeit presentiment can be so charming, how much more lovely, the original!" he exclaimed. And now by his looks Devereaux saw that his anticipations were more than realized. The ethereal charm of Liane's beauty held him as by a spell. It seemed to Liane as if she had fallen asleep and waked in a brighter world. But an hour ago she had been poor little Liane Lester, the humble sewing girl, who had spent her little fortune, five dollars, the largest sum she had ever possessed at once in her life, on this simple white gown for the festal occasion. Now she stood there, the centre of admiring congratulations, receiving introductions and alternately bowing and smiling like some great beauty and heiress. She felt like an heiress, indeed, with that crisp new hundred-dollar bill tucked into her belt, and her cheeks glowed with shy pride and joy, for she had dared to indulge some trembling daydreams over gaining the prize, and now she hoped they might be realized. There were sad hearts there, too, for many a vain little maiden was disappointed, among them Dolly Dorr, who stifled her chagrin, however, and kissed Liane very sweetly, saying: