"Nora, Nora! Where are you?" called a clear, girlish voice, and Cara Burt dashed headlong into a pretty bedroom all draped in white, where a tall girl was standing by an open window. "Nora!" she cried, "what are you doing up in your room at this hour, when we are all busy in the garden preparing our tableaux? Mrs Hazlitt says that she herself will recite 'A Dream of Fair Women, ' and by unanimous consent you are to be Helen of Troy. Did any one ever suit the part so well? 'Divinely tall, and most divinely fair.' Why, what is the matter, Honora? Why have you that frown between your pretty brows, and why aren't you just delighted? There is not a girl in the school who does not envy you the part. Why are you staying here, all by yourself, instead of joining in the fun downstairs? It's a heavenly evening, and Mrs Hazlitt is in the best of humours, and we are all choosing our parts and our dresses for the grand scene. Oh, do come along, they are all calling you! There's that tiresome little Deborah Duke-Mrs Hazlitt's right hand, as we call her-shouting your name now, downstairs. Why don't you come; what is the matter?" "There is this the matter!" said Honora Beverley, and she turned and flashed two dark brown eyes out of a marvellously fair face full at her companion. "I won't take the part of Helen of Troy; she was not a good woman, and I will have nothing to do with her. I will be Jephtha's daughter, or Iphigenia, or anything else you like, but I will not be Helen of Troy.