Peggy, who had been brought up on Dickens as if she had been a girl of the fifties, had forgotten how few of her contemporaries had ever heard of Mr. Wegg. Warned of her slip by the blank faces that looked back at her, she began to recite the lines she had written in sheer desperation the previous evening, after she was supposed to be in bed.
"It isn't because he's six feet two
With shoulders to match his height,
That I'm happy and proud to be facing you
On this very eventful night.
"It isn't because his face is fine,
Clear-cut, like a cameo,
That I value the right to call him mine
More than any one here can know.
"It isn't because he's so very wise;
We both could improve right there.
His faults are plain to the kindest eyes,
And I know that I have my share.
"He's not perfection—to hint at this
Would waken his scornful mirth.
And yet he has made me—just as he is—
The happiest girl on earth.
"I know he is built of the sterling stuff
Of which manly men are made.
And that glad certainty is enough
To render me unafraid.
"As we scatter to go our devious ways
Like sparks from the anvil hurled,
I want you to think of me all your days,
As the proudest girl in the world."
The applause that greeted Peggy's effort was not due chiefly to the quality of her verses, nor even to the charm of her undisguised happiness. The Editorial Staff of the Annual had leaked out. It had been whispered about that if it had not been for Peggy's protests, the Annual would have contained a satirical attack on a stricken man, which would have rendered its circulation impossible. The clapping died down, and then broke out again, as if to emphasize the fact that it was a personal tribute.
And so one after another, the girls in the enclosure introduced the possessors of the names they themselves would some day bear, and having finished, went laughing back to their seats. The photographs were passed about for examination and the ballots distributed. The voting was a somewhat protracted process due, doubtless, to the fact that so much was at stake. But in course of time the ballots were collected and the judges retired to count them, the girls filling in the interval with college songs.
The announcement of the result of the balloting came as a great surprise to Peggy. For the recipient of the stick pin was not Graham but Philip Carpenter. Judith, blushing very prettily, made the speech of acceptance in behalf of her fiancé, and took the pin.
"I wish to say to you all," said the class president, "that twenty-five dollars is deposited with the treasurer for the purchase of a wedding-present for the first of our number to marry. I can only say it can't be spent too soon to suit me. It's time," she added severely, "that somebody was disproving the slander that college women care only for civic reform and settlement work and teaching school, and that home and husbands don't matter to them at all."
Priscilla glanced discreetly in Peggy's direction, but Peggy was looking at the table. Indeed her expression remained thoughtful till the first toast was given, and she stood with the others to drink to her alma mater in a draught of fruit punch.
It was not till they were on their way home that Priscilla discovered the reason for Peggy's temporary abstraction. For while they were talking of something entirely different, Peggy suddenly exclaimed, "Do you suppose it was the uniform that dazzled them?"
"I don't quite understand you, Peggy."
"Why, that vote, you know. Of course Judith's lieutenant is a very good looking fellow, but the idea of comparing him to Graham."