There were other girls than Roma planning to look their prettiest that night, and one was Liane Lester.
Her girl friends had persuaded her to send in her picture with theirs, and all six had been photographed in a large group by the Stonecliff artist.
No one could gainsay the fact that it was a beautiful group, from the petite, flaxen-haired Dolly, to the tall, stately brunette, Mary Lang. Miss Bray was quite proud of them, and wished she had not been too old and homely to compete for the prize.
"How sweet they look in their plain white gowns—as pretty as any millionaire's daughters!" she said proudly. "Indeed, I don't see why one of them can't take the prize? What if they are just poor sewing girls? Almost any of them is as pretty as Miss Clarke, with her fame as a beauty! But her pa's money helped her to that! Look at Liane Lester, now; that girl's pretty enough for a princess, and if she had fine fixings, like Roma Clarke, she could outshine her as the sun outshines the stars! But, of course, I wouldn't have Liane know I said it, because a poor girl must never cultivate vanity," she concluded to her crony, Widow Smith, who agreed to everything she said.
Liane had been almost frightened at first when the girls insisted on her going to the Beauty Show to see the exhibition of photographs, and hear the prize awarded.
"For if you should be chosen, you must be there to receive the prize," cried Dolly.
"I could never dream of being chosen," the girl cried, with a blush that made her lovelier than ever.
"You must come! Tell granny you have thrown off her yoke now, and intend to have a little fun, like other young girls. If she rebels, tell her you will leave her and live with me!" encouraged Mary Lang.
"You mustn't miss it for all the world!" cried Lottie Day vivaciously. "Did you know that the ladies of the Methodist church intend to have a supper in the town hall, also, that night?"
Little by little they tempted Liane to rebel against granny's arbitrary will and accompany them.