"So I'm the one in the way," said Grace, quickly; "you're so mightily mysterious, all of a sudden, Horace!"
"Good evening, Grace," said Robert Sherwood, appearing at the door; "what about the prize?"
"O, dear, I don't know, Robin."
"What think I heard? That the trial would lie between two of you girls—Grace Clifford and Mahla Linck."
Grace flushed to the temples.
Then other people thought that, as well as the school-girls.
"What are you doing, Grace?" said Horace, returning from the dining-room, and eying his sister's writing-desk with some curiosity.
"Writing a letter, or trying to," replied Grace, flourishing her pen nervously in the air.
"Why is your letter like the equator?" said Robert.
"Equator? Don't know. Can't stop to guess conundrums."