“Oh, I know what this is going to be,” Helen Trent informed Jerry under her breath. “It’s an old Celtic beauty contest. Away back in the history of the Celts, they set aside one day in the year for games and contests. Just at sunset came the beauty contest. The Brown Judges, there are always three, who were in charge of all ethical matters, for the Celts had their own ideas about ethics, came down from their writing in the court tower and made this proclamation. All the pretty girls and women in the village would enter it. The judges would take their places on the fiddler’s platform and the beauty line had to pass them three times in slow succession. As they knew everyone in their village, I suppose it wasn’t very hard for them to pick the winner! She was accorded thereupon,” Helen quoted from memory, “‘the acclamation of her people, and, added to the joy of knowledge of Beauty, a silver purse, containing three heavy gold pieces, together with a solemn adjuration to do well, breed no vanity of the mind and say a prayer of thankfulness at even for the gift of Beauty, by the grace of God.’”

“How pretty,” Jerry said softly. “Well, if this is a beauty contest, I hope the judges won’t be partial. I know whom I think ought to win it.”

“You mean Marjorie?” Helen asked guardedly. “I think so too. Now listen to this charge to the contestants. I know it pretty well. Leila Harper let me take a book on the Celts. She brought it with her from Ireland. She was born in Dublin and came to this country when she was twelve. She is at the bottom of this and I know why. The clever maneuverer that she is!” Helen laughed, then her face suddenly sobered. She glanced anxiously at Marjorie, who stood not far away, her brown eyes riveted on the three judges. The conditions of the contest were about to be laid down by one of them.

“One makes this charge to winsome maids, not all may win the crowne! All ye who are to Beautye bent have had the assurance long. No mirrore ’flects a fairness back there be no fairenesse there. The twisted eye, the fanged tooth, the loose-lippede mouth, the mottlede skin, the unclassike nose, the sharpenede chin are not of Beautye’s kin. Beare this in mind and venture not ’fore the Judges’ critike heighte an ye are cursede with these. Now not too talle, nor yet too lowe; e’re be ye passinge faire. The heighte of man, five feete and nine, is not our favore gainede. Nor is the midge of four feete teyne, more than the olde, olde childe. Of grace we thinke on heavilye and note the free lighte step, the slendyre carriage of the budding flower, whiche she of grace does have. Of frank sweete looke, yet not so bolde, we rank as beautied worth. No countenance is perfecte yet when guile lurkes backe its eyese. So shalle ye rate yourselvese in mind upon our honeste scale, spokyne in hones klaryte to save the injuryede feeling of the sex, and we who judge ye much of vexede delaye and crude annoye. Beare last of all this sacrede truthe, goode Beautye needs no artifyce. The cosmetykes of cheatynge maides are instante knowne to use to be abhorrede.”

With this pointed laying down of entrance conditions to the contest, His Honor, the center judge, and the tallest of the three, fell back a little, to allow his companion on the left to speak. With a dramatic wave of the arms he began:

“Upon yon heighte we now shalle stand to sighte ye as ye passe.” A second sweep of the arm designated a small platform profusely decorated in hunter’s green, the freshman class color, and old gold, that of the sophomore class. It stood near the big Japanese lemonade bowl and had excited considerable curiosity during the evening, as no one seemed to know its purpose.

The third judge, who had thus far been silent, now called out in a veritable town-crier voice: “Heede ye! Heede ye! Beautye waites her worthynge. Lyne ye single fylinge. Passe ye once before us! Passe ye twice before us! Passe ye thryce before us! Walke ye to slowe measure.”

Having delivered himself of these succinct directions, the speaker joined his companions in bowing low to the enthralled assemblage. Whereupon, all three turned and strode majestically toward the fateful platform. Luckily the builders of the stand had not forgotten to place two makeshift steps of soap boxes, carpeted in green. The august judges had also been cautioned beforehand to tread upon them lightly or run a chance of disgracing their high and mighty personages by an ignominious tumble.

While they were disposing themselves on the platform with as much dignity as a wary ascent would allow, their hearers were fascinatedly considering the proclamation. Hardly a young girl who does not take a pardonable interest in a beauty contest. While she may be honestly sure that she would never be chosen the winner, she has a secret desire to enter it simply because she is a young girl.

From all parts of the gymnasium a subdued murmur of voices now arose, mingled with much soft laughter. Thus far the proclamation was too new to court action. Besides, it took temerity, after hearing the conditions, to walk boldly forth, an aspirant for beauty honors. Finally a knot of juniors, who had been loitering near the Judges’ stand exchanging pleasantries with the brown-robed critics, obeyed a mischievous impulse to start the ball rolling. Forming into line, these six, none of whom had a claim to more than fairly good looks, marched solemnly out onto the floor and approached the stand at an exaggeratedly slow walk. A shout of mirth arose, which they acknowledged with wide smiles. The ice was broken, however, and the line began to grow amazingly. At each end of the room, the two pages had now taken up their station in order to direct the progress of the beauty line.

“Catch me joining that line,” declared Jerry. “I know just how beautiful I am without any opinions from those three old wigs.”

“You goose!” exclaimed Helen, in an undertone. “Come on. There’s Muriel just going into line with Miss Barlow.” She giggled at the idea of stiff Moretense courting beauty honors. “If Marjorie sees all of us in it she will join, too. Otherwise she will stay out of it, and Veronica along with her. Either one of them are positively stunning types. Only I would vote for Marjorie. She really is the prettiest girl I ever saw. Why, on the campus now, the really worth-while girls rave over her.”

“Maybe the judges won’t see it that way,” deprecated Jerry. “Do you know them?”

“Yes, I do. They are all right. Leila picked them and she is always fair. I told you this was her work. Now come on.” Helen slipped an arm into Jerry’s and towed her, unresisting, into the long line that was now moving decorously around the gymnasium. Needless to say, the Sans had joined it. Even Lola Elster, accompanied by Leslie Cairns, had swaggered into line. Both had arrived late, attired in expensive, but somewhat flashy fall sports suits and hats. Neither removed her hat when dancing, a proceeding which many of the juniors and seniors present regarded with no leniency. The Sans appeared to consider this rude ignoring of convention a huge joke. Lola Elster’s impudent face bespoke her satisfaction in having thus defied the canons of good taste.

By the time the entire procession had passed the judges’ stand once, fully two-thirds of the company had joined it. Marjorie had been among the last to do so. Even then she would have preferred to stay out of the contest, had not Leila insisted that she must take part in it, pointing out to her Jerry, Muriel, and greatly to her surprise, Ronny, among the aspirants.

“It is only for fun, modest child,” argued Leila, in her most persuasive tones. She had foreseen this very snag in the way of her plan. Already the line had passed the stand for the second time. “Ah, come on!” she implored, catching Marjorie by the hand.

With a half sigh of reluctance, Marjorie yielded. Next second, Leila was hurrying her across the lower end of the room where the last of the procession was just rounding a corner. At least a third of the guests had elected to stay out of the contest. From different points of the gymnasium arose an energetic clapping of hands as Marjorie and Leila caught up with the line. Leila chuckled under her breath. Marjorie’s reluctance had only served to strengthen her chances for winning. Leila knew that the judges’ decision could not be attacked. She had been careful to select three seniors whose word was law at Hamilton. If they pronounced Marjorie Dean the most beautiful girl present, then, undoubtedly, she was.

As for Marjorie, she felt her face flame until it seemed to her that it must be bright vermilion. She experienced a momentary desire to upbraid Leila for thus bringing her into such undesired notice. She had not realized how conspicuous their cutting across the corner had made them until the applause had begun. Walking ahead of Leila, she was so chagrined at her own stupidity that she moved along mechanically, hardly cognizant of what was happening.

It seemed a long time to her before the line completed its third tour of the room. Came an echoing order from one of the judges to halt and the contestants obeyed with admirable alacrity. Part of them were viewing the beauty judges with smiles, perfectly content in knowing they would not be chosen. To a number, however, the contest had taken on a serious aspect. Two very pretty freshmen, pets of the Sans, stood looking at the judges as though determined to force their approval. Among the Sans Soucians there was an element of alertness that pointed to a smug belief in their claim to beauty.

Of the contestant, none was more concerned in the decision than Natalie Weyman. For a whole college year she had been acclaimed as the Hamilton College beauty. While considerable of this reputation had been built up for her by the Sans, it had gained ground, for one reason or another. She had taken care to live up to it, spending time and money in the cause of her personal adornment. Now, after having fought hard for it, she did not propose to relinquish it. She was inwardly furious over the contest. There were half a dozen girls whom she feared, all looking radiantly lovely. Vera Mason had never looked prettier. Martha Merrick was simply stunning in that maize tissue gown. More than once that evening Natalie had watched Muriel with a frown. But those other two hateful girls! Her envy had been thoroughly aroused by Marjorie’s and Ronny’s gowns. Her jealousy was rampant because of the beauty of their wearers. Though nothing could have forced from her the truth, she knew that the palm belonged to Marjorie.

Standing a little in front of a group of her friends, where she might be plainly seen by the judges, she assumed an attitude in which a portrait painter had posed her for a portrait the previous winter. Having slyly loosened one of the orchids from the cluster she was wearing, she began picking it to pieces, her head slightly bent. Falling into the pose with consummate art of the practiced deceiver, she really made an attractive study.

Marjorie and Leila had halted almost the length of the gymnasium from Natalie, to Leila’s inward vexation. She had hoped to see the two brought close together. She was sternly determined to see the false colors stripped from Natalie Weyman, whom she despised for a just reason which no one but herself knew.

“Let us have faith that the judges have good eyesight,” she muttered, as the judge who had delivered the charge to “Beautye brighte” held up a brown-winged arm for silence.

If the single gesture had been a wizard’s charm, it could hardly have taken effect more quickly. A hush, almost painful, ensued. The roll of the spokesman’s announcing tones fairly jarred the absolute stillness.

“Upon our queste of Beautye brighte, we have not soughte in vaine. So manye maides of faire young pryde make hard the chosynge then. Nor had the taske been done e’en yet, walkyede Beautye not amongst ye. On Mystresse Marjorie, of the Deans, our critike favor falles. Beautye has she to bless the eye and satisfye the heart.”

A murmur of acclamation began with the announcement of Marjorie’s name. It increased in volume until it drowned the judge’s speech. “Delighted,” that dignitary managed to shout so as to be heard, and, with a profound bow, waited for the noise to subside.

Standing beside Leila, who was applauding vigorously, a positive Cheshire-cat grin on her usually indifferent face, Marjorie fervently wished that she might suddenly drop through the floor. Her embarrassment was so great that she hardly knew in which direction to look or what to do. When quiet again descended the judge went on with the rest of a very complimentary speech. It ended in a summons to come to the stand and be acclaimed Beautye and receive Beautye’s guerdon.

At this Marjorie absolutely balked. Neither could Leila nor several other students, who had gathered round her, persuade her to go forward. It ended by a flushed and half indignant Beautye being forcibly marched up to the stand by a crowd of laughing girls. The guerdon was an immense bunch of long-stemmed American Beauty roses. Marjorie made a never-to-be-forgotten picture, as surrounded by her body guard, she stood with her arms full of roses and listened to the quaint adjuration to Beautye.

Unbidden tears crowded to her eyes as the judge ended with fine dramatic expression: “Brede ye, therefore sweete maids, no vanitye of the mind, but, say ye raythere, at even, a prayer of thankfulnesse for the gifte of Beautye, by the grace of God.” The emotional side of her nature touched by the fineness of the sentiment, she forgot herself as its object.

A group of Silverton Hall girls, headed by Portia Graham and Robin Page, gathered to offer their warm congratulations. Entirely against her will, Marjorie Dean, Hamilton College freshman, had been accorded an honor which she had neither expected nor desired.