Betraying a good deal of only partially suppressed excitement herself, Mrs. Burton smiled and nodded in response.
“I think you and Bettina and I shall at least recognize President Wilson. Aunt Patricia is such a partisan of the French, she is probably more interested to discover Clemenceau, France’s remarkable old Premier, who is known as ‘The Tiger.’ But look!”
It was now quarter of three o’clock.
At this moment a carriage was seen to drive up before the steps of the Foreign Office. The troops began blowing a fanfare of trumpets. The carriage stopped and several small men in black frock coats got out. These were the Japanese delegates to the Conference. They were followed by the Siamese and then the East Indians in their picturesque turbans.
Suddenly one appreciated the Allies in the great European war had not been merely the four nations which had borne the brunt of the fighting. They represented eighteen nations from every quarter of the globe; for the first time in the world’s history they were to meet this afternoon in the interest of a world peace.
Later other delegates continued to arrive, the Camp Fire girls leaning perilously over their balcony to watch them, Miss Patricia and Mrs. Burton crowding close behind.
All at once a different emotion swept over the crowd in the street.
Bettina Graham turned to clutch Mrs. Burton by the arm.
“President Wilson!”
There was no need for her explanation. At this instant the American girls were convinced that the fanfare of trumpets was expressing a more ardent welcome. Everywhere faces had brightened, women were seen holding up their babies in their arms. The people in the streets and from the windows of the houses nearby, were making more of a demonstration.