Judge Wilson smiled back at his wife. She was always so decided in her opinions, so fearless in expressing them.
“To be sure, to be sure,” he responded calmly. “Most of us acknowledge that, but we have power only to interpret and judge. The people make the laws.”
“I think this talk is a trifle too heavy for a boarding-school reception,” exclaimed a young matron. “I shall return to the reception hall and listen to the chatter of schoolgirls. I haven’t outgrown my taste for it.” She laughed and passed into the adjoining room.
Her remark lead to the general breaking up of the little group. “We had better go back to the younger set,” was the sentiment of the elders.
“You must slip up now and see how nice our rooms look,” cried Mary Wilson, clinging to her father and mother. “Elizabeth brought so many pretty things from home, our rooms look quite fine.”
“Yes; do come,” said Elizabeth. “We’ll make you a cup of cocoa—or Mary will. I haven’t reached such a high state of perfection that I make it for company.”
“Well, just, for one moment then,” said Mrs. Wilson. “We must not stay long enough to be missed. Mrs. Williams, will you and your husband come with us? We are going up to see the girls’ rooms. They tell me that they are very fine.”
Mrs. Williams gladly accepted. She was a little old Quaker lady, in Quaker garb, neat as the proverbial pin, and with the appearance of having just stepped from some old painting.
“It has been so many years since I have seen a schoolgirl’s room,” she said, “that I should love to see Mary’s. In my day ours were plain—painted floors and wooden beds. It was not allowable to have aught else; but we were taught to be orderly—too much so, I thought.”
“Dr. Morgan is particular about that. Mrs. Schuyler is preceptress, but she works under Dr. Morgan’s orders,” said Mrs. Wilson.