ry from the living room. She had heard Marjorie's
question. Now she appeared in the doorway of the living room, viewing
her former chum with sombre gravity. "Who is going to sing the
Princess?" she asked abruptly.

"Connie was chosen. She sang beautifully."

"I'm glad Mignon didn't get the part," muttered Mary. Wheeling about,
she walked into the living room, and, taking up a book she had turned
face downward on the table, became, to all appearances, absorbed in its
pages.

For a moment Marjorie stood watching her through the half-drawn
portieres. She would have liked to continue the conversation, but pride
forbade her to do so. Mary's mood presaged rebuff. Later, at luncheon,
she unbent sufficiently to question Marjorie further regarding the
try-out. Although she did not say so, she was sorry that Mignon had
been given a principal's part in the operetta. Privately, she wished
she had made an attempt to get into the chorus. She, too, was of the
opinion that the French girl would bear watching. Failure to carry off
the highest honors would act as a spur to Mignon's unscrupulous nature,
and sooner or later some one would pay for her defeat.

Mary was quite correct in her conjecture that Mignon would not allow
matters to rest as they were. From the moment that Constance had been
announced as the Princess she had made a vow that by either fair or
unfair means she would supplant "that white-faced cat of a Stevens
girl," who had been awarded the honor that should have been hers. The
first step consisted in holding a private session with Professor Harmon
after the others had gone, to ascertain if by any chance he might be
relied upon to help her. She found him engaged in conversation with the
dark young man. He eyed her with interest, bowed affably when presented
to her by the professor, and expressed somewhat profuse pleasure at
meeting her. In the presence of a stranger, Mignon dared not ask
Professor Harmon openly to reconsider his recent decision in her favor.
Three minutes' conversation with him showed her that, had she made the
request, it would have availed her nothing. The brisk little man's mind
was made up. He congratulated her on capturing second honors with a
finality that could not be assailed. Then a brilliant idea entered her
wily brain.

"Professor Harmon," she began, with a pretty show of girlish confusion,
quite foreign to her usual bold method of reaching out for whatever she
coveted, "I would like to