An idea came to Brenda. "Why shouldn't we form a group by ourselves?" Brenda had turned to Tom Hearst with her question.
"I should say so," he responded enthusiastically. "I mean certainly. How shall I stand, or rather mayn't I prostrate myself at your feet as your humble page?"
"No, no, how absurd you are!" for Tom was already kneeling in an attitude of devotion.
"It's after twelve," the photographer reminded them, "and there are several waiting."
"In other words," said Tom, "we ought to hurry. So look pleasant, Miss Barlow,—that is, as pleasant as you can under the circumstances," and Brenda assumed her stateliest pose, having first seen that her train was spread out to its broadest extent.
"Really," exclaimed Ralph, who stood near, "you must send a copy of the picture to Arthur."
Brenda did not reply, but when they were again among the gay crowd she was quieter than she had been before, and to the astonishment of Agnes she was ready to go home long before the carriage came.
But, strange to say, Pamela, the conscientious, was much less disturbed than she should have been by the thought that this was the hour of her country's danger. The artistic beauty of the whole scene was such that for the time it occupied her mind completely, and she and Julia, with Tom and Philip as attendant cavaliers, were quite care free as they wandered among the gay throng. Yet her mind was turned a little toward the war when Philip began to tell her of his difficulties.
"In the natural course of events," he said, "I should have been in the Cadets. But I had thought I'd wait a year or two. Now the only thing is for me to enlist, or get an appointment as officer. They say that the President will appoint any number of officers. There is only one thing—"
Pamela waited for him to continue, and at last he took up the broken thread.