Her reputation-and Raymond's-soared, soared. Her literary talent
placed her on a much higher plane than if she were merely "smart"-
made her in the most perfect sense "prominent."

After the minstrel triumph it was no surprise when, at class
elections, Melissa Merriam became president of the Juniors. A few
months before Missy would have been overwhelmed at the turn of
things, but now she casually mounted her new height, with assurance
supreme. It was as though always had the name of Melissa Merriam
been a force. Raymond said no one else had a look-in.

At the end of the term prominence brought its reward: Missy failed
in Geometry and was conditioned in Latin. Father looked grave over
her report card.

"This is pretty bad, isn't it?" he asked.

Missy fidgeted. It gave her a guilty feeling to bring that
expression to her indulgent father's face.

"I'm sorry, father. I know I'm not smart, but-" She hesitated.

Father took off his glasses and thoughtfully regarded her.

"I wasn't complaining of your not being 'smart'--'smart' people are
often pests. The trouble's that this is worse than it's ever been.
And today I got a letter from Professor Sutton. He says you evince
no interest whatever in your work."