Was retribution following thus fast because of that subterfuge of Mugwump? Alas for that conscientiousness of which she had once been proud! Was it the measure of her degradation she read on Rosalie’s startled face—Rosalie’s face of stricken incredulity and amaze? But no; Rosalie’s transfixed gaze was not on Emily Louise—it passed her, to——
To where in the aisle beyond stood another—Isobel.
But the head of Isobel was erect, and her eyes flashed triumph; the throw of Isobel’s shoulders flung defiance back in the moment of being chosen.
Excitement quivered the voice of Miss Amanda’s announcement. “The wife of the President of the United States, young ladies, having signified her intention of to-day visiting our school, the young ladies standing will report to the office at once, to receive instructions as to their part in the programme; though first, perhaps”—did Miss Amanda read sex through self—“a little smoothing of hair—and ribbons——”
Emily Louise on this day carried her news home doubtfully, for Aunt Louise and Aunt Cordelia were of such violent Democracy.
“You were chosen”—Aunt Louise repeated—“Isobel, to make the speech and you to present the flowers?” Aunt Louisa’s face was alight with excitement and inquiry. “And what did you do, Emmy Lou?”
“I gave them to her up on the platform; it was a pyramid in a lace paper—the bouquet.”
“And then?” Aunt Louise was breathless with attention.
“She kissed me,” said Emily Louise, “on the cheek.”
Aunt Louise gave a little laugh of gratification and pride. “The wife of the President—why, Emmy Lou——”