Mrs. Marvin decided to make the weekly socials very different from what they had been.

It had been her custom to hire musicians from the city to give a little recital, and then serve light refreshments, and allow the latter part of the evening to be spent in indoor games, or dancing.

The social part of the evening was always enjoyed, but many of the musicians, both vocal and instrumental, had given selections of so strictly classical character that some of the pupils complained that they did not care for it.

She determined to ask three pupils to arrange a program for each evening, each of the three being expected to take part in the entertainment.

One Monday morning she unfolded her plan, and announced that on Friday of that week would occur the first social having a pupils' program.

"I have asked Dorothy Dainty to take charge of the little recital, and I believe we shall enjoy it."

When the eager applause had subsided, Mrs. Marvin continued:

"The girl in charge of the entertainment must not be annoyed with questions as to the program because I wish the entertainment each week to be a surprise.

"Dorothy, herself must contribute one or two numbers, and I have appointed Nancy Ferris, and Patricia Levine to help her."

The pupils were wild with curiosity as to what the numbers were to be, but while a few hinted that they were eager to know just what they were to hear and see, they did not ask Dorothy to tell them. They thought it would be more fun to be surprised.

Dorothy found herself in an awkward place.

She had decided to sing a pretty waltz song, for which Nancy played the accompaniment. Nancy had at first thought of playing a piano duet with Dorothy, but Dorothy pointed out that a number of the girls, when it came their turn to entertain, would surely play, and she urged Nancy to do a fine solo dance.

"It will be more of a treat," she urged, and Nancy agreed.

Patricia declared that she had studied with a fine vocal instructor since they had heard her, and she also stated that she would sing a solo, or nothing.

Patricia, when at Merrivale private school with Dorothy and Nancy, had done some very funny singing, and Dorothy felt a bit nervous as to what she would do now, but Patricia insisted that she had rapidly improved, and there seemed to be no choice but to let her sing.

"Do make her tell you what she's going to sing," Nancy said, one morning, "because if she has chosen something you wouldn't like to have her sing, you might be able to coax her to change it."

Dorothy promised to question Patricia, but she laughed at the idea of being able to make Patricia change her mind after she had decided what she should do.

"What am I to sing?" said Patricia, when at recess Dorothy questioned her. "I'm going to sing something from grand opera. It's called:

"If her teacher said that she sang it well, perhaps it will be all right," Dorothy said, but even as she said it she wondered just what Patricia would do. Patricia might do anything.

Dorothy took the time to practice when all of the pupils were out of doors at recess. She did not wish them to hear her song until she should sing it for them at the social.

Nancy practiced her solo at early morning. Mrs. Marvin had given her permission to practice in their reception hall when she learned at what an early hour Nancy was willing to rise in order to do it.

Patricia declared it entirely needless for her to practice, thus making Dorothy still more uneasy as to her performance.

At last the evening arrived.

Dorothy had told herself that if, after all, Patricia did anything as "queer" as she had been known to do, worrying beforehand would not mend matters. She knew if she became nervous regarding Patricia, she could not do her own solo well. Patricia had asked that her number might be the last on the program, and Dorothy had agreed.

As Patricia usually wished to be first in anything, and was offended if not given precedence, it certainly looked as if she were planning to have her solo the crowning event of the evening.

Soon after seven a buzz of voices told Dorothy that the pupils had assembled early, and she would have joined them, but Mrs. Marvin had said that each of the soloists must be announced, and must come onto the stage, and greet her audience as if she were a professional.

All had been carefully arranged, and Vera Vane was to announce each performer.

Dorothy had chosen a light-blue dress, her pumps and hose of the same shade. The dress was charming, because of its lovely coloring, and its graceful lines.

Very clearly Vera announced:

"The first number to-night will be a waltz song by Dorothy Dainty."

Dorothy's voice had been carefully trained, and very sweetly she sang, one especial charm being that every word could be clearly heard, which is more than can be said of many singers who have studied for years.

She had chosen "Asphodel's Song."

How sweet was the voice, how happy her smile as she sang:

Surely no singer was ever more graciously received.

There were to be no encores because of limited time.

Lights were usually out at nine-thirty, but the socials were from eight to ten. The concert must be brief to allow sufficient time afterward for games.

"The next number will be a dance by Nancy Ferris."

Nancy had stood in the upper hall, ready, when she heard her name called to enter. Here and there a tiny spangle caught the light, and the soft pink of her dress was repeated in her cheeks. She was happy. She was going to give pleasure.

As she heard her name called, she bounded down the stairway, across the hall, and up on the stage, looking far smaller than in her usual school dress. The pupils were spellbound.

Nancy had said nothing of her dancing nor had she spoken of having been a tiny performer at the theaters.

Now as they saw her whirling on the tips of her toes, dipping, swaying, doing steps of wondrous grace, they marveled at the skill with which she did it. At home, at the Stone House, Dorothy had often played for her, but to-night she seemed to out-do herself.

Nancy swung forward, then with cunning steps retreated, crossed her feet and did the pretty rocking-step, whirled again, and yet again, did the pirouette to left, then to right, made a very low courtesy, and ran off the stage, followed by tremendous clapping.

How they wished that she might have repeated the lovely dance!

Mrs. Marvin closely watched the nimble feet and determined to know something more about the charming little dancer. And now—Dorothy wondered just what the next number would be. She took a long breath when, as Vera announced her, Patricia entered simply attired, wearing a pretty white dress, with a pale yellow sash, no other color.

It was remarkable to see Patricia without at least six colors.

"Perhaps she'll sing well," Dorothy said to herself, "for the lovely song that she chose for her number couldn't be twisted into anything funny."

Was that really so, or was Dorothy trying to think so? Was there anything that Patricia could not "twist" if she chose?

The charming old song is very sweet when properly sung, and the words fit the melody.

So runs the first verse, but Patricia had never seen the music. She had heard the song a number of times, and felt competent to sing it.

Dorothy had asked her to practice it, then had offered to loan her the music, but Patricia declared that she needed neither practice, nor the use of the music.

"Are you sure you know the words?" Nancy had asked.

"Of course!" Patricia had said sharply.

Nancy played the prelude, and Patricia sang. Sang with all her might, one might say, but oh, the words as she sang them!

She had caught them as they sounded, giving never a thought as to whether they made sense.

Was it strange that roars of laughter greeted the song? Even Mrs. Marvin, a model of all that was well-bred, covered her eyes for a moment with her handkerchief, but when she removed it, the eyes were twinkling and it was evident that only her self-control kept her from laughing aloud.

Dorothy's first thought was for Patricia. She knew it must be dreadful to be laughed at, and she was hoping that Patricia might not be too badly hurt. She would draw her into the games later in the evening, and thus cheer her.

It happened that Patricia needed no cheering. She was disgusted, but not hurt. She believed herself to be a very fine singer, and thought that the only reason for laughter was that her audience was dull, so dull indeed that her romantic selection had been mistaken for a comic song.

"The idea of thinking that song funny enough to laugh at! Why it is not a comic song at all. There's nothing funny about it!" she declared. "It really doesn't pay to sing for folks here. They can't understand what you are doing! The next time I sing, I'll sing for my friends in N'York."

Dorothy was puzzled for a second, then, as she saw that Patricia really meant what she said, she was thankful that the laughter had not been understood by the silly little singer.

Patricia had actually thought that they were foolishly amused by the song.

It had been quite another thing that annoyed Patricia, and that was the evident pleasure that Nancy's dancing had given, and on the day after the social, she was vexed to have to hear the other girls talking about it.

"I'd think you never saw any one dance before," she said, when Betty Chase said that Nancy's dancing was "simply lovely."

"Well, I never did see a girl dance like that," said Betty.

"Well, she ought to dance. She's had enough training, besides she used to dance on the stage. Who couldn't dance if they had a chance like that?"

"A whole lot of people couldn't," said Betty, sharply. "I couldn't for one, and I guess there are a few others."

"Do you mean me?" Patricia asked, sharply, her eyes flashing.

"I mean any one silly enough to say that Nancy's dancing was anything but wonderful," Betty said, and she turned to Valerie, leaving Patricia to talk to herself, or to no one, if she chose.

Patricia had hoped to lessen interest in Nancy, but what she had said had had an opposite effect.

It had increased their already lively interest to such an extent that many who had not yet met her were wild to know her, and those who already were her friends were eager to question her as to her career. They longed to hear all about her training, her first appearance at the theater, and countless questions they wanted to ask her. Patricia had made Nancy more popular than before.