“What is your pseudonym, Kitty?” asked Grace, raising her flushed face now and looking at Kitty. “We thought ‘Rosebud’ and ‘Cherry Blossom’ so pretty.”
“Oh, I?” said Kitty. “I have called myself ‘Pansy.’ Well, I’ll take the papers across now.”
Kitty lingered for some time in the passage outside Miss Greene’s private room. It was quite dark, the lights were not yet turned on; girls came and went rapidly, and no one noticed Kitty in her dark dress, standing in the shadow. She counted the girls as they went by. They entered Miss Greene’s room quickly and came out again almost at once. She felt certain now that all who were about to compete had left their papers on Miss Greene’s desk. It was now her turn to enter. Quick as thought, she opened the door and shut it behind her. There was a small lamp burning on the desk, the rest of the room was in shadow. Quickly Kitty approached the table. Staring her in the face was the long envelope in that neat writing so exactly like Grace’s—“Prize Essay for the Howard Miniature,” and on the small envelope, fastened to it with a piece of blue ribbon, was the pseudonym “Bluebell.”
In a flash, yet with firm fingers, Kitty untied Alison’s small envelope, she also untied Grace’s, then she changed the two envelopes, putting Grace’s on Alison’s paper and Alison’s on Grace’s. The deed was done. She gave a quick sigh of delight. “Ah! I am clever,” she said aloud.
“No, you are not. You’ve got to change that,” said a voice, strong, brave, passionate; and Kitty looked into Peggy’s eyes.
For one minute Kitty turned perfectly white, as white as death; there was no way out of it. Even her genius could not discover any. She had planned for this, she had worked for it. From the moment that Peggy had recited in her spirited and brilliant way, Kitty had known down deep in her heart that the Howard miniature was not for her. The best she could not win, but how about the second best? Could she so arrange matters that her friend should get the prize? How noble then would Kitty look, rejoicing in the good fortune of another; how splendid would be her appearance on the day of the prize-giving, when with her little face all aglow, she had kissed Grace and congratulated her. And there was really no fear of discovery, for the prize essay was not to be read aloud, the judges were to decide, and the essay itself was to be put away in the Howard archives; and the essays that were failures were to be destroyed, they were not to be returned to the luckless writers. All these things Kitty had taken into account when she laid her plans. Startling and great was the similarity between Grace’s handwriting and Alison’s! She had meant to be guided by that on the day when she changed the papers, but Fate seemed truly in her favour when that little sketch of the bluebell had given her the clue to Alison’s pseudonym. How Mr. Dodd would love her! how kindly he would think of the girl who had felt so sure of his girl’s success. Oh yes, yes, she had reason to be happy!
But, just at the moment of success there came the crash, the fall, the hopeless despair. For Kitty recognised in the sapphire-blue eyes of Peggy Desmond one who would not be trifled with, and who would not relent. She had begun by hating and despising Peggy; but although she feared her awfully she did not despise her now.
“Peggy, Peggy,” she said, “Peggy, Peggy, have mercy!”
“I don’t intend to have mercy,” replied Peggy; “there’s been too much mercy shown to ye, bedad, and I’m not going on with it. Ye’ll just do what I wish now. Untie that ribbon and be quick, or Miss Greene will come into the room.”
Kitty, with trembling fingers, did what Peggy demanded; her little hand shook, she could scarcely form a knot. Peggy stood stately and silent near her. She did not help her in the very least, there was a glow of triumph in her eyes. Was this the girl whom Kitty had resolved to humble? Was this the girl whom Kitty had hurt, had trampled on? Was this the girl whose leg had been broken because of Kitty and her satellites? She stood there now like a sort of avenging angel, gloriously strong and beautiful, but with no compassion about her—none whatsoever. Those tender and gracious lips had no kindly curves for Kitty, those glorious blue eyes were firm, defiant, slightly mocking, a little revengeful. Was this indeed the girl who was loved by all the Upper School, the creature of storm and sunshine, of love and pity, of sympathy, of that tender, tender compassion which would make her ever deny herself to help others?