She has a wealthy uncle and is not studying with any such purpose in view. But I can’t believe, my dear friend, that you don’t think a woman is better for every advantage she can have.”

“Of course she is,” said the younger man, half vexed with himself. “But I was wondering how you could be so pleased over a mere pretty frivolity like this. It didn’t seem like you!”

The old professor smiled.

“I was pleased over the many tests the child has stood and shines in them all. She’s a rare girl. She’s pure gold. You don’t know her.”

“Are you sure you do?” asked Stewart, a bit impudently. “After all, these tests are not real. It’s the later life that is the real test, the home life.”

“Some who have taken such honors in school have been tried by fire and they have shone out pure gold, Cameron,” said the old professor, his voice trembling slightly. He could call to mind instances that brought tears to his old eyes.

“Well, I’d like to see this paragon of yours tried by fire once—the fire in the range, for instance, like the pioneer women. If she could stand that she surely ought to be the honor girl,” laughed the young man. And looking down, as if drawn by some strange attention, he met the eyes of Elsie Hathaway, clear, keen, haughty, and he knew that she had heard him, for she stood just beneath the low gymnasium gallery.

He felt the color stealing into his face annoyingly. What was the matter with him? He tried to comfort himself by thinking that she could not possibly know of whom he was speaking but in his heart he was sure she did all the time. Well, she was only a kid anyway, why should he care? He was glad that Professor Bowen started downstairs.

He hoped to escape this marvelous Hathaway kid further, but the professor was determined his two best-beloved pupils should meet and brought about an introduction. Stewart tried to say something about how much he had enjoyed her dancing, but she held him coolly with her eyes, and turning away talked to Professor Bowen. Cameron Stewart was glad when he at length emerged from the crowd of eager, fluttering schoolgirls and gray, smiling elderly teachers, and was seated in the big leather chair of his beloved professor’s study. But somehow after he was there he could not think of the things he had intended to say and he found himself listening to a long tale of Elsie Hathaway’s achievements, told by the dear old man who could not bear to have his pet pupil discounted.

Elsie Hathaway, cool, dainty, lovely, dividing the honors with the queen of the occasion, moved down the length of the gymnasium slowly, met on every hand by adulation.

“O Elsie, you dear, you were too sweet!” murmured another girl snuggling up to her, proud to be allowed to stay a few minutes by her side.

“Elsie Hathaway, we are proud to lay even the honors of the Athletic Department at your feet,” saluted a teacher, bending to fasten a decoration of fluttering ribbons and gleaming stones on Elsie’s green gauze breast.

They gathered around her, laughing and chattering as only schoolgirls can chatter. Now and then the group would be broken into by friends who wished to be introduced and tell how much they had enjoyed the beautiful entertainment Elsie had given them; and little girls who had been privileged witnesses looked wonderingly at the fairy who was real flesh and blood, after all.

They gave her flowers, they invited her to dine, they showered their compliments freely, as Elsie progressed to the door of the gymnasium, and outside it was the same.

The boys from the neighboring college stood hovering in shadowy groups along the way, watching for her coming with admiring glances.

“Say, that was something great, Elsie! You’d make your fortune on the stage. What a pity so much talent is lost to the public!” said a daring youth.

“It certainly was fine, Elsie. I never saw anything more graceful in my life. Butterflies aren’t as graceful as you, nor a bird on the wing. I didn’t know, one whirl there, but you had been growing some wings yourself and might fly away from us!” chimed in another, gallantly.

“Say, Elsie, that was dandy!” called out a young man who presumed upon a distant cousinship.

And so, laughing and admiring they accompanied her to her uncle’s car where awaited her proud aunt and uncle and two adoring cousins, and as they drove away a low admiring murmur of friendly voices, almost like a cheer, followed her into the night.

One might have expected Elsie’s head to be turned, and she certainly was pleased with all the pleasant things that had been said to her. One drop of bitter was mixed with the sweet, however, perhaps to make the sweet seem all the sweeter.

The beloved aunt and two dear cousins fluttered after her even to her room and stayed to talk over the evening, how everyone did, and what everyone said. They told her as they left that she had been the best of all. But it all surged over her after they were gone, that one bitter drop in the evening’s draught of delight.

“Horrid thing, I hate him!” she said to herself in the glass. “He just spoiled it all for me. He had an awfully arrogant look. He said he would like to see me ‘tried by the fire in the range.’ I know he was talking about me. His eyes were too honest to keep me from knowing, though his tongue did try to make me think he had enjoyed it, and deceive me about what he had said. He is one of those old-fashioned men who want to keep women down to their ‘sphere,’ I’m sure.