"Nora, Nora! Where are you?" called a clear, girlish voice, and Cara Burt dashed headlong into a pretty bedroom all draped in white, where a tall girl was standing by an open window. "Nora!" she cried, "what are you doing up in your room at this hour, when we are all busy in the garden preparing our tableaux? Mrs Hazlitt says that she herself will recite `A Dream of Fair Women,' and by unanimous consent you are to be Helen of Troy. Did any one ever suit the part so well? `Divinely tall, and most divinely fair.' Why, what is the matter, Honora? Why have you that frown between your pretty brows, and why aren't you just delighted? There is not a girl in the school who does not envy you the part…
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