Miss Crokerly, intent upon some fine needlework, did not look up on her entrance; but Rosalie had one friend whose eyes were sharper and perceptions more acute. The frog, whom she had left sitting upon the timepiece, looked across at her. Rosalie gained assurance from that glance.
She sat down without any remark, and took up the book she had been reading, making some pretence of continuing her occupation as before.
“I’ve heard a rumour,” said Miss Crokerly presently, “that the Great High Priest is resigning.”
“Who is he?” asked Rosalie absently.
“The Great High Priest of the Serpent,” continued Miss Crokerly. “I can scarcely credit it, though. He is barely seventy-two. And he can have no reason for it either. It’s an office never vacated till death. Dotage doesn’t count.”
“Maybe he is more conscientious than most,” said Rosalie, rousing herself from her own line of thought to take an interest in the conversation.
“I don’t know, I’m sure. There have been whispers of it for the last three years. I think he has enemies.”
“I suppose all men in prominent positions have.”
“Yes; but there are enemies and enemies. Now my opinion of the Great High Priest is that he has hidden enemies, or perhaps he chances to be merely unfortunate.”
“What do you mean?” asked Rosalie, beginning to be interested in the conversation.