"He's nervous about his speech. He," there was the faintest accent on the "he," "doesn't feel sure he will win the Shakespeare."
"How queer! Surely each one in his heart is convinced he'll pull it off!" There was an odd mocking note in his voice.
"Only the conceited ones!" she laughed.
There was a little pause.
She looked up at him, smiling.
"You feel as if you will win it, don't you?" she said amiably.
"Thanks. I take it, Miss O'Brien."
"The speeches are going to begin," observed Gertrude, turning round.
"I say," Cuthbert Pennington's dark face was trying to look injured, "they've made me go up first! Wish me luck! I'm a-trembling all over. Shouldn't wonder if I faint away in a swoond!"
His speech was good, bright, and vivacious, and sometimes humorous. There was a good deal of applause at its finish.