“I take great pleasure in announcing that this scholarship, the first to be presented to Sanford High School, is the gift of Miss Veronica Browning Lynne. Miss Lynne wishes it to be known hereafter as the ‘Marjorie Dean Scholarship,’ a tribute of her esteem for Miss Marjorie Dean,” was the bombshell that burst on the senior class.
The thunder of applause that swept the auditorium drowned his further speech. Down among the graduates Marjorie Dean presented a petrified figure of amazement. Her brown eyes blinded by tears, she heard dimly the vigorous acclamation of her schoolmates and townspeople. Dimly she was aware that Jerry was holding one of her hands; Constance the other. With a little sob, she freed them, hiding her burning cheeks behind them. Nor did she have the courage to remove them until the clamor died away. Again she heard the speaker’s voice.
“I have also another announcement to make which, while not strictly related to high school matters, pertains to a number of the graduates who are members of the senior class sorority, ‘The Lookout Club.’ During the short period in which this sorority has been in existence it has accomplished much good. Mr. Victor La Salle, one of our most prominent Sanford citizens, wishes me to state that in token of his kindly regard for Miss Marjorie Dean, a member of the club, he wishes to make an endowment of one thousand dollars a year to be used by the Lookout Club as a help in carrying on their work.
“I may also add that Miss Dean is to be congratulated on having attained to so high a position of regard in the estimation of the donors.”
Marjorie could never quite remember the ending of the Commencement exercises. As in a dream she walked up on the stage with her class to receive her diploma to the tune of fresh and infinitely embarrassing applause. The unexpected had robbed her of coherent thought. Three words alone sang in her bewildered brain, “Veronica Browning Lynne.”
The exercises ended, she moved mechanically off the stage in the line of graduates, headed toward the anteroom. Exiting from stage into the side room, she became immediately the center of a buzzing throng of highly excited girls.
“Here she is, Marjorie,” shrieked Jerry, as she laid gentle hold on Veronica and shoved her into Marjorie’s outstretched arms.
“Ronny, who are you?” was all Marjorie could say as she folded Miss Archer’s “servant girl” in her arms.
For answer Veronica merely laughed. Raising her clear voice she said, “Girls, I have something to say to you. I am a wicked impostor. I hope you’ll all forgive me for deceiving you so long. I did so for purely personal reasons. I am really not so very poverty-stricken and I was never a servant of Miss Archer’s. She is my god-mother. I came to visit her, but decided to stay in Sanford and go to high school. I played at being a servant just for fun. That’s all.”
It was indeed “all” so far as Veronica wished the majority of her classmates to know. That afternoon, however, Marjorie, Jerry and Constance gathered in Miss Archer’s living room to hear the more intimate details of the affair from Veronica’s lips.