“You never thought of that until I reminded you,” flung back Jane.
“I—Jane, I cannot tell a lie.” Frances put on an expression of exaggerated nobility. “For once in your life you furnished me with inspiration. All the rest of your days you may be proud of it. Although your obstinacy grieves us deeply, Miss Pellew, we will graciously make allowance for it, Miss Pellew. We cannot hope to follow the confused meanderings of a contrary mind, Miss Pellew, we can only trust that as the golden years glide by, Miss Pellew, time will soften your stony heart and open your blind eyes, Miss Pellew, to the glorious possibilities of reform.
“Breathes there a Jane with soul so dead—
She yet shall lift her stubborn head
And shout: ‘Me for reform!’”
Frances’ impassioned ovation was hailed with a gust of mirth that threatened to make itself heard outside the sacred precincts of the council chamber. Even Jane had to laugh. Frances’ diverting burst of eloquence was too entirely good-humored to arouse resentment. Incidentally, it influenced prejudiced Jane to a broader perspective.
“I ought to be furiously angry with you, Frances Bliss, for orating on my so-called stubbornness,” she said, with a futile effort toward dignity, which ended in a laugh. “Just to show you that my contrary mind isn’t quite so contrary as you are trying to make out, I’ll join the reform movement now.”
“Hurrah!” exclaimed Anne and Emmy together.
“Good old Jane,” beamed Frances patronizingly. “Come to my room to-morrow and I’ll decorate you. In the dim recesses of my trunk repose a Grand Army badge, a suffragist button and a nice, crinkly, red paper Christmas bell. You may wear them all.”
“Thank you,” Jane’s sharp chin elevated itself, “but I couldn’t bear to deprive you of such treasures. Now stop teasing me. I want to ask Ruth something.”