“Miss More, pardon me. I have hurried to give you this. I—I think Elizabeth would have enjoyed showing it to you. I—wish—she could have been here to-day. She would have been—glad.”
Miss More took the paper mechanically. “Thank you, Robbie Belle. Will you wait one moment, dear? I want to speak to you.” She turned again to the older woman. “It may be an enlightening little tale,” she began, “and Miss Whiton plays a part in it. These are the facts.”
Bea watched her, fascinated. The eyes seemed to be gazing away beyond the evergreens at old, unhappy, far-off things. Slowly they returned to nearer objects, dropped suddenly and caught for an instant upon some one passing by. At sight of the swift gleam of bitter recognition, Bea followed the direction, and beheld Miss Whiton. She looked back again in time to see a wonderful change as Miss More’s glance traveled unconsciously to the paper in her hand.
Robbie’s wistful regard was also lingering upon the paper.
“Elizabeth loved it all—the class—the whole college.”
The trustee was evidently in haste. “And this enlightening little tale of yours, Miss More? Pardon me for urging you on. The importance of the issue—ah!” Bea saw her nod acquiescence in response to a gesture from some one who was waiting at the porte cochere. “I fear I shall not have time for it now. May I consult you later? You are sure, Miss More, that the story is something that I ought to hear?”
Miss More hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “It may have been merely a schoolgirl misunderstanding. I will—think it over and let you know after the dinner. In any event, I thank you for your confidence. Miss Whiton certainly merits the honor.”
It seemed to Bea that Miss More looked after the older woman with an expression of half-puzzled surprise at her own indecision. Then she turned to Robbie.
“I remember that evening,” she spoke in a curiously softened tone. “Elizabeth sat in the glow of the drop-light and scribbled this card, while the rest of us watched her idly, and talked, half serious, half in fun over the novelty of choosing our mottoes. It was Elizabeth who had proposed it. She had such a shy, sweet, humorous way of being good. Everybody loved her.”
Robbie nodded speechlessly. After a moment she said, “The rest of your verse is ‘Love suffereth long and is kind.’”