“I’ll write to her Aunt Katie this very afternoon,” said Aunt Cordelia.
“Better look to the family tree,” said Uncle Charlie. “There’s danger of too rich soil in these public honours.”
But, instead, Emily Louise went out and sat on the side-door step; she needed solitude for the readjustment of her ideas.
Aunt Cordelia was pleased, and Aunt Louise was proud.
And Emily Louise, with the kiss of Republicanism upon her cheek, had stepped down from the Chapel platform into ovation and adulation, to find herself the centre of a homeward group jostling for place beside her. Hattie had carried her books, Rosalie her jacket. William had nodded to her at one corner, to be waiting at the next, where he nodded again with an incidental carelessness of manner, and joined the group. Emily Louise had stolen a glance at William, anxiously. Had William’s opinion of her fallen? It would seem not.
Yet Isobel had gone home alone. Emily Louise had seen her starting, with sidewise glance and lingering saunter should any be meaning to overtake her. But she had gone on alone.
“Because she never told,” said Hattie.
“Until she wanted to be chosen,” said Rosalie.
“But I never told,” said Emily Louise.