Duane's glance met Kitty's quizzically. "Really think so?" she drawled. "Have I at last won a word of praise from you? I can hardly express my overpowering emotion."
Kitty's face flamed, and she fell back a step, feeling as if the other girl had slapped her in the face. "It was horrid of her to say that," she thought to herself, feeling hurt and resentful. "I really did mean it quite sincerely." Duane, meanwhile, went on after a short pause, "It's your turn next. Now show them that I'm not the only gifted one."
Kitty looked straight at her just for a moment and her eyes sparkled. "I'm going to," she snapped, and turned away, vowing that she would win the quarter-mile or die in the attempt. Strange to say, for once Kitty was not thinking of the honour of Carslake's; as she lined up for the race with lips set determinedly, the house was not even in her mind, only the house's head prefect.
The faces of the Carslake girls became even more seraphic when Kitty won the quarter-mile, by a bare half-yard. After that there was a short interval. The afternoon was drawing to an end, and only two events remained to be contested. The excitement mounted when the girls who were keeping account of the points scored, announced that Sheerston's was leading, with despised Carslake's only one point behind.
"We must win one of these last two," said Kitty desperately. "Another first would probably do it."
But in the relay race, their luck deserted them. All three girls ran well, but Peggy, who was shaking with nervous excitement, muffed taking the flag from Duane and lost a valuable three or four seconds and the start Duane had given her. Both she and Kitty made a desperate attempt to overtake the leader, but found it beyond their powers, and finished third. They were now two points behind Sheerston's, who had finished second.
There was still the 100 yards to be run. The unhappy Frances, who was Carslake's sole representative, found herself overwhelmed with exhortations, advice and admonitions.
"It rests with you now, France," said Duane. "Mind you run for all you're worth." France groaned. "For goodness' sake stop that. I wish I'd never entered for the wretched thing. You put my name down, Duane, and you must be responsible for the consequences. I don't pretend to be able to run races. I'm not an athlete, I'm an artist."
"Never mind what you are," said Duane. "Just pull up your stockings and run. I know you can sprint a bit, for I've seen you dash across the quad when you've been a bit late for class. Imagine someone in front is running off with your most prized picture. Cheer up! It's only a hundred yards, so it won't kill you."
"I'll pose for you if you'll do your very best," urged Kitty. "Next Wednesday afternoon."