“I declare, I never saw such a spectacle as I am in my life,” Gerry Ferrows protested, turning half way around to get a back view of herself in her bedroom mirror. “You look perfectly lovely, Winifred, and I would not be a bit surprised if you get the Shakespeare prize after all, even though Olive has the best class record for the year and I the highest mark for my essay. We are so close together in this contest that the least thing may change the balance. It is my private opinion that whoever gives the best Shakespeare recitation to-day will receive the prize.” And Gerry sighed and then laughed, as she stooped to adjust her doublet and hose. “Dear me, Winifred, why couldn’t I have been born a stately blonde beauty like you so that I might have appeared as lovely Ophelia instead of having to represent Rosalind on account of my short hair?”
Winifred also laughed, just the least bit complacently, happening at that moment to catch sight of her own fair reflection. She was dressed in a long clinging robe of some soft white material and her pale blonde hair, bound with a fillet of silver, hung loose about her neck. In her hand she held a sheet of paper with her speech written upon it, which she glanced at a little nervously every now and then.
“Oh, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword;
The expectancy and rose of the fair state.”
“Dear me, Gerry, don’t talk of my winning the prize by my recitation,” Winifred groaned. “I have the most dreadful case of stage fright already, and to think that I have to make the first speech!” She glanced up at the clock on their mantel. “It is only a half hour now before we must go downstairs and I believe that there have never been so many guests at one of our commencements before. I suppose it is because the day is so beautiful that we can have our whole entertainment outdoors. I wish we had a front window, for I am sure I have heard at least a hundred automobiles drive up to the house. If we go to the ranch girls’ room we can see out into the yard and I can have a look at Olive. I am simply dying to find out what she looks like!”
Gerry shook her head positively. “Jean says that no one is to come near Olive; she even means to go downstairs with her herself and to slip around to the entrance to the stage in the pavilion, so that no one shall dare speak to her. So I suppose if the truth be known, Winifred, Olive is just about as badly scared as you are and a good deal more so, considering how dreadfully shy she is. But don’t fear that she will not look pretty. I heard Jessica Hunt say the other night that she never saw any one so exquisite in her life as Olive in her Shakespeare costume. And I feel rather proud because Olive chose Perdita in ‘The Winter’s Tale’ for her character because I asked her to. She had once made me think of a description of Perdita.”
Winifred flushed angrily and then began walking up and down the room. “See here, Gerry Ferrows, I do think it is just too hateful for you to have kept on encouraging Olive to try for this prize. It will look awfully queer to people if she accepts a prize from her own grandmother anyhow, and I do need it most dreadfully.” In her nervousness and temper Winifred was almost in tears, though not for worlds would she consciously have marred her lovely appearance.
A low whistle came from between Gerry’s red lips. “Please don’t leave me out of the race altogether, sweet Winifred,” she begged. “I may not have so great beauty as you and Olive to commend me, but remember:
“‘From the east to western Ind,