s whirling and dancing for them."

Floretta, now more unhappy than before, turned so that she might not see
Nancy, nor note the shimmer of her spangles.

Mrs. Paxton, who had been talking with a friend, now turned toward
Floretta.

"Come!" she said, "now run out, and do your very best, Floretta."

"I'm not going out!" said Floretta.

"What an idea!" cried Mrs. Paxton. "Of course you'll run out, and show
every one how cute you are. Why, I planned this entertainment just to
give you a chance to show off!"

"And made me the last one on the whole list!" snarled Floretta.

"Come, come!" cried her mother, "every one couldn't be first. I thought
I'd have the others perform first, and then _you_ could show who was the
smartest! Come! They're just wild to see what you can do, and they're
waiting."

"They'll _have_ to wait!" hissed Floretta, like a cross little cat.

It was no use to urge, plead, or insist. Floretta was stubborn, and when
once she had determined what she would, or would not do, nothing could
move her.

Prayers and threats were equally useless.

Dorothy sang very sweetly, and was cordially received.

Uncle Harry and his wife sang a charming duet that delighted all, the
orchestra played a military caprice, and then the remainder of the
evening was spent in a little, informal dance.

All was light, laughter, and music, and there were two kinds of music
that gladdened their hearts,--the sweet music of the violins, and the
still sweeter melody of happy voices!

Silly little Floretta had ruined the evening for no one save her own
jealous little self.

Because she could not be the first on the program, she would not appear
at all, although, at heart, she longed to show her really clever
mimicry. Later, after having sulked during the early part of the
evening, she refused to join the dancers, and ran away to her room,
angry, very angry with every one save the one person who was really at
fault,--herself.

Her efforts at imitating would surely have amused, and would, doubtless,
have been well received. She was rather a graceful dancer, in any of
the ordinary ballroom dances, and she thus might have joined the other
children when the concert was over. She had needlessly spent a most
unhappy evening.

Now, in her room, she heard the strains of the orchestra, and for the
first time realized how foolish she had been.

"I _had_ a chance, and I lost it," she sobbed, but her tears were not
tears of grievi