It was, of course, the place of the chairman of the committee to speak. So Polly said, “Oh, would she like to have us, Miss Salisbury?”
“Yes, my dears. I know she would. She feels badly to go and leave you all, you know,” and there were tears in the blue eyes that always looked so kindly on them. “And it would be a very lovely thing for you to do, if you would like to.”
“We should love to do it,” cried Polly warmly. “May we go now, dear Miss Salisbury?”
“Yes,” said Miss Salisbury, very much pleased; “she is in the red parlor.”
So the committee filed into the red parlor. There sat Miss Anstice, and—oh dear me!—Mr. John Clemcy!
There was no time to retreat; for Miss Salisbury, not having heard Mr. Clemcy come in, was at the rear of the procession of girls. “Here, my dears—Anstice, the girls particularly want to see you—oh!” and then she saw Mr. John Clemcy.
Miss Anstice, who seemed to have dropped all her nervousness lately, saved the situation by coming forward and greeting them warmly; and when Mr. John Clemcy saw how it was, he went gallantly to the rescue, and was so easy and genial, and matter-of-course, that the committee presently felt as if a good part of their lives had been passed in making presentations, and that they were quite up to that sort of thing.
And Polly made a neat little speech as she handed her the packet; and Miss Anstice's eyes filled with tears of genuine regret at leaving them, and of delight at the gift.
“Girls, do you know”—could it be Miss Anstice who was talking with so much feeling in her voice?—“I used to imagine that you didn't love me.”
“Oh, that could never be!” cried Mr. Clemcy.