ider for a moment,
speak in a low tone to the two other prefects; then very reluctantly she
answered the summons, "Judith, come here and read this page for me, will
you, please? Perhaps you'll do."

Judith read the page and a tiny feeling of resentment began to make
itself felt. She hadn't been asked to do anything nice, or anything she
wanted, and now they weren't even asking her if she would be willing to
take Marjorie's place.

"I guess you'll do," was Eleanor's uncomplimentary comment when Judith
had finished.

"There's really no one else," she said, turning to Patricia, "and I
think Judy can be word-perfect by Friday. I'll coach her every spare
minute myself. Come along, Judy," she added, "and read over the part
before we begin."

Somewhat breathless from this prompt decision, Judith obediently took
the manuscript and seated herself at one corner of the stage. Suddenly
as she read, the full meaning of this new turn of events flashed into
her brain. The final term examination in literature was listed for
Friday morning, and Judith had planned to spend all her spare time
between now and then in the thorough revision of her work, for there was
still much to be done, and this examination would really decide whether
she or Joyce or Phyllis would head the list.

For a long ten minutes Judith read her part and at the same time debated
within herself, while Eleanor settled some difference of opinion about
exits and entrances. Self number one tried to hoodwink self number
two--"Top Self" and "Deep-Down Self," Judith as a little girl had
christened these two voices within her. "Daddy would like you to come
out first; you oughtn't to disappoint him. Lessons must be done. Just go
and tell Eleanor you can't do it and then your time will be your own."

"No," said Deep-Down Self, "be fair, Judy. You know you can't act well,
you won't be a success like Genevieve. You don't want Catherine and the
others to see you fail, and honestly, do you want to come out first for
Daddy's sake or for your own? I really believe you don't think enough
fuss has been made over you. You'd _rather_ work at your literature and
come first, perhaps, but you can memorize quickly and they need you.
Which _ought_ you to do?--never mind whether it's hard or not."

Judith had always been honest with herself and she knew quite well what
the real issue was.

The struggle was hard, the hardest, perhaps, which Judith had ever
fought. Mechanically she tu