The Opera House was crowded. There were a lot of women there, the majority of them staid Cherryvale matrons who were regular subscribers to the Lyceum Course, but Missy, regarding them severely, wondered if they were there hoping to get kissed.
Presently Mr. Siddons, who dealt in “Real Estate and Loans” and passed the plate at the Presbyterian church, came out on the platform with another man. Mr. Siddons was little and wiry and dark and not handsome; Missy didn't much care for him as it is not possible to admire a man who looks as if he ought to run up a tree and chatter and swing from a limb by a tail; besides he was well known to be “stingy.” But his soul must be all right, since he was a deacon; and he was a leading citizen, and generally introduced speakers at the Lyceum Course. He began his familiar little mincing preamble: “It gives me great pleasure to have the privilege of introducing to you a citizen so distinguished and esteemed—”
Esteemed!
Then the other man walked forward and stood beside the little table with the glass and pitcher of water on it. Missy felt constrained to cast a look at the Honourable Ridgeley Holman Dobson.
Well, he was rather handsome, in a way—one had to admit that; he was younger than you expect lecturers to be, and tall and slender, with awfully goodlooking clothes, and had dark eyes and a noticeable smile—too noticeable to be entirely sincere and spontaneous, Missy decided.
He began to speak, about something that didn't seem particularly interesting to Missy; so she didn't pay much attention to what he was saying, but just sat there listening to the pleasing flow of his voice and noting the graceful sweep of his hands—she must remember that effective gesture of the palm held outward and up. And she liked the way, now and then, he threw his head back and paused and smiled.
Suddenly she caught herself smiling, almost as if in response, and quickly put on a sternly grave look. This woman-kissing siren!—or whatever you call men that are like women sirens. Well, she, for one, wouldn't fall for his charms! She wouldn't rush up and knock other women down to kiss him!
She was flaunting her disapproval before her as a sort of banner when, finally, the lecturer came to an end and the audience began their noisy business of getting out of their seats. Missy glanced about, suspicious yet alertly inquisitive. Would the women rush up and kiss him? Her eyes rested on prim Mrs. Siddons, on silly Miss Lightner, on fat, motherly Mrs. Allen, Kitty's mother. Poor Kitty, if her mother should so disgrace herself!—Missy felt a moment's thankfulness that her own mother was safely home in bed.
A lot of people were pushing forward up the aisle toward the lecturer; some were already shaking hands with him—men as well as women.
Then Missy heard herself uttering an amazing, unpremeditated thing: