“Great!” thought Julia. “We that the world calls great know just how great we are. Every man his own valet!”
Her impulse was to refuse, but on second thought she concluded to accept the invitation, and for the morrow. Here was her opportunity to discover if the great cause had taken irrevocable possession of her. She had recited its history mechanically to her mother, but that, no doubt, was owing to her mental and physical fatigue. She would sleep to-night, and to-morrow, if she could feel the old thrill when talking to a rapt audience, play upon them, sway them, rise to the heights of magnetic eloquence which had made her famous, convert the cynical, then, surely, her old enthusiasm would return. If not —
Denny had told her that the messenger awaited an answer. She went to the living-room and read the letter to her mother.
“If you don’t mind my leaving you for one day —”
Mrs. Edis interrupted her. There was a slight flush on her face. “By all means, accept,” she said. “And I, too, will go. It will be my only opportunity to hear you, to witness one of your triumphs. Have you all those newspaper articles about yourself that I have heard of?”
“I am afraid not. I kept a scrap-book for a year, but we soon get over that.”
“Can you obtain them?”
“Oh, yes, it would be possible.”
“I wish them, and everything else that is written about you from this time forth.”
“Very well, you shall have them.”