The Lookouts were in august session in the Atwells’ cozy living room, which the mere members of the family, aside from Susan, had obligingly vacated while the club held sway. Seated in a semi-circle that curved the lower end of the large room, nine girls fixed attentive eyes on Muriel, who occupied a wide-armed chair a few feet in front of them. At a table on the right, Irma and Mignon were seated side by side. Her interest centered on her account book, the latter did not trouble to raise her eyes as Muriel spoke.
From the last right-hand chair in the circular row, Marjorie Dean rose. “I wish to propose the name of Veronica Browning for membership into the Lookout Club,” she announced in low, clear tones.
A wavering sigh swept the semi-circle as Marjorie reseated herself. This was, indeed, new business. Muriel Harding stared at Marjorie in mild astonishment. All interest in her accounts vanished, Mignon La Salle leaned forward over the table, her black eyes snapping. For a long moment no one spoke.
“I second the motion.” Harriet Delaney’s firm accents shattered the silence.
“It has been regularly moved and seconded,” stated Muriel, “that Veronica——”
“I rise to object.” Mignon La Salle leaped rather than rose from her chair, her face dark with protest. “I object seriously to admitting a servant into membership of the Lookout Club.”
“And I rise to object against the word ‘servant’ as applied to my friend Veronica Browning.” Marjorie was again on her feet, her lovely face set in stern lines. “There is no disgrace in being a servant,” she gravely rebuked. “It is the way in which the word has been spoken that makes it objectionable. The club owes a great deal to Veronica. All of you know how willingly she has offered us her services. We have gladly accepted them. It now becomes us to ask her to honor us by joining our club.”
“Honor!” sneered Mignon, tossing her black head in disdain. “A very queer sort of honor. I should term it disgrace. I will not have this presuming kitchen maid in the club. Who knows what sort of parents she has, or where she came from. She is sharp enough to make Miss Archer and a few other persons believe that she is something wonderful, but she can’t fool me. No doubt she came from some third-rate, stranded theatrical company. She has been very careful not to say a word about herself to anyone. Marjorie Dean ought to be ashamed to propose that we turn our club into a servants’ hall.”
With every word, Mignon’s voice had risen. Caution thrown to the winds she remembered nothing save her hatred against Veronica. Before she could continue a babble of angry voices assailed her from all sides. The dignified session of the Lookouts bade fair to end in an uproar of rebuke hurled in noisy entirety at Mignon.
“Order!” shrieked Muriel, wildly waving her arms. “Stop it, girls. The Atwells will think we’ve gone crazy.”