Christmas, for Genevieve, was not a happy time that year; and when the day was over she tried to forget it as soon as possible.  
She had stayed all night with the Butterfields—which had not been unalloyed joy; for, though they obviously tried to be kind to her, yet they could not help showing that they regarded her sudden appearance among them, dinnerless and moneyless, as most extraordinary, and certainly very upsetting to the of a well-ordered household.
 
In the morning she went back to Sunbridge. At the house she found Miss Chick ill. Her cold, and her fright over Genevieve, had sent her into a high fever; and Mrs. Kennedy was scarcely less ill herself.
 
Certainly it was not exactly a cheerful Christmas Day for the one whose heedlessness had brought it all about. But Genevieve mourned so bitterly, and blamed herself so strongly, that at last, out of sheer pity, Mrs. Kennedy, and even Miss Jane Chick, had to turn comforter; for—as Mrs. Kennedy reminded her sister—it was, after all, aside from her thoughtless lack of haste, only Genevieve's unselfish forgetfulness of her own possible wants that led to the whole thing. Then, and not until then, did Genevieve some attention upon her Christmas presents, of which there were a generous number.
 
Fortunately no one outside the house had known of Genevieve's nonappearance that Christmas Eve, so she was spared any curious questions and interested comments from others of the Happy Hexagons.
 
The short Christmas vacation sped rapidly. The young people spent much of it on the river, skating, when the ice was good. Genevieve, it is true, was not often seen there. Genevieve was playing nurse these days, and so to Miss Jane Chick was she, that both the ladies had almost to scold her, in order to make her take needed exercise. Even Harold Day reproached her one morning, when he met her coming from the post-office.
 
"You don't let any of us see anything of you—not anything," he complained. "And you look as if you were doing , or something—you've got such a superior expression!"
 
Genevieve dimpled into a sudden laugh.
 
"Maybe I am," she retorted. "Maybe I did something bad so I could do something good; and now I'm trying to do enough good to take out all the taste of the bad."
 
"Well, what do you mean by that, Miss Mystery?"
 
She would not tell him. She only shook her head , and ran into the house.
 
By New Year's Day Miss Jane seemed almost like her old self, and Genevieve was happy, for on that night Harold Day gave the first dance of the season; and, with Miss Jane better, and her own heart once more, she could give herself up to full of the music, fun, and laughter.
 
All the Happy Hexagons were there, together with O. B. J. Holmes, Charlie Brown, and many other of the young people, including even Tilly Mack's big brother, Howard, who—though quite twenty-one—was a prime favorite with the Happy Hexagons.
 
Genevieve was wonderfully happy that evening. Never had the music sounded so entrancing; never had her own feet felt so light. With Harold she "opened the ball," as Tilly airily termed it; then Charlie and O. B. J. had their turn.
 
"Oh, Genevieve, you do look just too sweet for anything in that pale pink," panted Elsie, stopping at her side between dances.
 
"Not any sweeter than you do in that white," tossed back Genevieve, affectionately.
 
Elsie sighed.
 
"I love this white, too, but it's got kind of frazzled now. Aunt Kate says she is going to make over Fannie's brown silk for Miss Sally's wedding," she went on, sighing again.
 
"I'm sure that will be nice," rejoined Genevieve, with hasty politeness.
 
"Y-yes," admitted Elsie; "only brown sounds kind of hot for April. Still, I suppose I ought not to mind. Just one girl wore it, anyhow, so it'll be faded even, and I sha'n't look like two folks in it," she finished wistfully, as Howard Mack came up to claim his dance with Genevieve.
 
It was three days after the party that there came a letter from Mr. Jones in reply to Mrs. Kennedy's Christmas note. It was a very grateful letter, but it was a disappointing one. It said that Mr. Jones did not see how he could let Quentina accept the kind invitation of Mrs. Kennedy and Genevieve. All the way through it, very plainly was shown the of a man who desires advantages for his daughter, and the pride of one who cannot bear that outsiders should give them to her.
 
Mrs. Kennedy saw this—and wrote another letter. In due time came the answer; and again Genevieve almost cried with disappointment. But Mrs. Kennedy smiled and comforted her.
 
"Yes, he says 'no,' I'll admit, Genevieve; but I don't think it's quite so strong a 'no' as it was before. One of these days I think I'll write Mr. Jones another letter, my dear—but not just now. We'll let him think a little—of how good it would have been for Quentina if he'd said 'yes.'"
 
Genevieve gave Mrs. Kennedy a big hug.
 
"Aunt Julia, you're a dear, and a veritable Solomon for wisdom. I'm going to write at once to the President, too. Your place is in the diplomatic service, I'm sure," she finished, as she danced from the room.
 
As January passed and February came, a new subject came uppermost in the thoughts of the Hexagon Club. For the first time in years there was to be a prize contest in the Sunbridge High School. The principal, Mr. Jackson, was to give a five-dollar gold piece to the writer of the best essay, subject to be chosen by the author.
 
"Well, I sha'n't try for it," announced Tilly on a Saturday afternoon late in February, as the Hexagon Club were holding their regular meeting at the parsonage.
 
"Why not?" asked Elsie.
 
"Because I don't like defeat well enough," retorted Tilly. "Imagine me winning a prize contest!"
 
"Oh, I shall try," almost Cordelia. "I shall always try for things, I suppose, till I die. I think I ought to; but of course I sha'n't win it. Dear me! How I would love to, though," she cried, almost under her breath.
 
Genevieve, looking at her momentarily illumined face, was conscious of a sudden fierce wish that Cordelia might win that prize.
 
"Genevieve, of course, will try," she heard Tilly's teasing voice say, then. "Genevieve loves to write, so!"
 
Genevieve turned with a laugh, and an uptilted chin.
 
"I take it, Miss Mack, that your very remarks refer to my magazine notes; but just let me assure you that this prize essay is quite another matter. That isn't printed!"
 
"Then you are going to try?—of course you are," interposed Bertha.
 
Genevieve laughed lightly as she reached for a piece of fudge.
 
"I suppose so. I'm afraid everybody will expect me to. Aunt Julia has already expressed her opinion of the matter."
 
February passed, and March came. A new topic of conversation now arose, specially of interest to the Hexagon Club. Miss Sally was to be married early in April, and the Happy Hexagons were to be bridesmaids. Naturally, even the new prize contest had to step one side for that month, in the minds of the six excited girls.
 
It was on a particularly windy Saturday toward the end of the month, that Cordelia blew up to the Kennedys' front door and rang the bell.
 
Genevieve herself, passing through the hall, opened the door.
 
"Br-r-r!" she laughed, as she banged the door shut after admitting the whirling draperies from which Cordelia's anxious little face finally emerged. "Why, Cordelia!"
 
"Yes, I know; I'm going to be at the club this afternoon, of course," panted Cordelia; "but this is for something I wanted to say to you—and I knew there wouldn't be a chance this afternoon. It—it's private, Genevieve."
 
"Good! I love secrets. Come into the sitting room. There's no one there this morning. Now, what is it?" she demanded, as soon as Cordelia's coat was off, and they were comfortably seated.
 
"It—I suppose you might call it work, Genevieve," smiled Cordelia, wistfully.
 
"More missionary work? Who in the world wants to go to Texas now?" laughed Genevieve.
 
"Nobody. It isn't Texas at all. It's—Elsie."
 
"Elsie!"
 
"Yes. Of course, dear, I don't know as you can do anything; but you've done so many things, and I'm sure if you could, it would be missionary work of the very nicest kind."
 
"What are you talking about?"
 
Cordelia drew a long sigh.
 
"I'll tell you. You know the rest of us bridesmaids are all going to wear white, but—but Elsie's got to wear Fannie's brown silk."
 
"I know," nodded Genevieve. "Elsie told me."
 
"But, Genevieve, just think—brown silk for a bridesmaid at a wedding, when all the rest of us wear white! Besides, Elsie says brown is so hot-looking for April. She feels about it."
 
"Can't she do someth............