“Patricia! You are hurt? What was it? But it is not fair! You would have won; I shall tell our Sister! The prize shall be yours!”
“Don’t be grotesque, my dear!” Patricia was entirely herself now, and her speech, though still panting, was her own. “It was a close thing, and a pretty race, and I congratulate you. That’s all there is to it!”
Still bewildered, Honor examined the ground carefully. The hard white sand showed hardly a trace of the flying feet; there was no sign of any stone.
“It must have rolled away,” said Patricia carelessly. “Come on, little thing, and get your prize. And don’t be afraid,” she added, in an enigmatic tone; “I’ll get it next year! No fairy godmother for me, to whisk me overseas. I’ll get the apples next time, little Blackbird!”
CHAPTER XVII
THE BLAZE OF GLORY
“There are two ways of doing it!” said Mrs. Damian. “There is the dark lantern, hole-and-corner way, and there is the Blaze of Glory.”
Miss Folly looked up inquiringly. She seldom spoke when a look sufficed.
“We can pack the child up at the Pension,” Mrs. Damian continued, “sneak off in a cab to the station, leaving a trail of tears and sniffs behind us, and depart as if we were all going to the penitentiary together; or we can give her a Party and a Send-off, and go—as I said—in a Blaze of Glory. What do you say?”
“If I were the child, I should prefer the dark lantern,” said Miss Folly thoughtfully.