Alexia ran over in her mind everything for which she could, by any possibility, be congratulated; and finding nothing, she said, “What for?” quite abruptly.
“Oh, my dear! Haven't you heard?” Old Miss Seymour put her jewelled fingers on the girl's shoulder. She had gathered up her dressy morning robe in her hand, and hastened down her front steps at the first glimpse of Alexia across the way.
Alexia knew of old the roundabout way pursued by her aunt's friend in her narrations. Besides, she cared very little anyway for this bit of old women's gossip. So she said carelessly, “No, I'm sure I haven't; and I don't believe it's much anyway, Miss Seymour.”
“'Much anyway?' oh, my dear!” Old Miss Seymour held up both hands. “Well, what would you say if you should be told that your teacher was going to be married?”
Alexia staggered backward and put up both hands. “Oh, don't, Miss Seymour,” she cried, the fears she had been lighting so many weeks now come true. Then she burst out passionately, “Oh, it isn't true—it can't be!”
“Well, but it is,” cried Miss Seymour positively. “I had it not ten minutes since from a very intimate friend; and as you were the first Salisbury girl I saw, why, I wanted to congratulate you, of course, as soon as I could.”
“Salisbury girl!” Alexia groaned as she thought how they should never have that title applied to them any more; for of course the beautiful school was doomed. “And where shall we all go?” she cried to herself in despair.
“Oh, how could she go and get engaged!” she exclaimed aloud.
“You haven't asked who the man is,” said Miss Seymour in surprise.
“Oh, I know—I know,” said Alexia miserably; “it's Mr. John Clemcy. Oh, if we hadn't had that old picnic!” she burst out.