“But, mamma, what a position for us to be in. She will be asked to resign, and we can’t stay in the club under such circumstances. It makes the most fearful muddle.”
Mrs. Holmes sewed quietly on. “Leave the matter to adjust itself, Lisa, and don’t worry over it,” she advised. “I can assure you that it will all come out right.”
“Then Persis has told you what she means to do.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, well, I suppose she’ll do something to astonish us to-morrow,—either resign of her own accord, or consent to abide by the rules.”
But Persis did not mean to do either of these things. She was at that moment knitting her brows over some papers at a table in Annis’s little attic room.
“Hoop-la!” she cried presently. “I’ve found the link, Annis. Here it is. You see John wasn’t Jacob’s son at all; he was Henry’s son, and that makes you all right. Can’t you imagine the surprise?” And Persis threw back her head and laughed heartily. “Give me those papers,” she continued. “There, write down just what I tell you. I’m glad I can count on Nellie Hall. She must sign this before I go home.”
“I don’t see why you want to take so much trouble. You know I don’t care anything at all about it,” Annis certified. “I know I have nothing to be ashamed of, and that’s enough.”
“That is the best evidence in the world of your real claim: your quiet indifference. If you had turned up your nose and had flouted around and raged, as some of the girls have done, I should have been inclined to turn aggressive myself. But you always were so—so ladylike.”
“Of course,” returned Annis with a little hauteur. “I leave wrangling and squabbling to kitchen-maids. My mother never descends to such things, why should I?”