“Hurrah for our Ruth!” was the first jubilant exclamation that greeted her ears, the instant the Council Fire had ended. Frances Bliss had pounced upon Ruth with the joyous abandon of a playful bear-cub, and was hugging her vigorously.
Free at last to express their individual gratification, her six intimate friends now crowded about her, each one more eager than the next to make herself heard.
“I’m so pleased and so proud of you, Ruth,” was Anne Follett’s affectionate tribute, as Ruth emerged, rosy and laughing, from Frances’ devastating embrace.
“So are the rest of the Equitable Eight,” caroled Jane Pellew, her sharp black eyes glowing. “I speak for Marian, too. It’s just what she’d say if she were here.”
“You truly deserved the honor, Ruth,” chimed in Betty Wyndham. “It was positively thrilling to hear you repeat the Torch Bearer’s Desire.” Betty had been keenly alive to the dramatic value of the ceremony.
“It was just like a play, wasn’t it, Betty?” teased Sarah Manning.
“Certainly it was,” agreed Betty, calmly ignoring Sarah’s intent to tease. “Still I can’t see that your remark is strictly in the nature of a congratulation,” she added slyly.
“Oh, I hadn’t got that far yet,” was Sarah’s unabashed retort. “But here goes. Most estimable and magnificent Ruth, deign to accept the humble and heartfelt congratulations of your lowly admirer, Sarey. Profiting by your unparalleled example, I shall live in the fond hope that sometime during the next hundred years I shall be elevated to a like honor.”
“Fine!” applauded Frances. “Plain Jane and I will proceed to live in the fond hope that we’ll be there to see it. We may be a trifle time-worn and wobbly by that time, but nevertheless, we’ll be there.”
“You needn’t include me in your calculations,” cut in Jane scornfully. “I shall grow old gracefully and never wobble.”