In intermission next day, a note was laid upon Ida's desk, inscribed in towering capitals, to "Misses Ross and Carleton;" It ran thus:—
"At a large and enthusiastic meeting of the Italian class of Mr. Purcell's Young Ladies' Female Seminary, convened on yesterday afternoon, the succeeding resolutions were proposed, and carried unanimously:
"Resolved, That whereas, Miss Ida Ross and Miss Caroline Carleton, members of the aforesaid class, have, by their spirited independence delivered us from an oppression as grinding as that under which our Revolutionary forefathers groaned, a vote of thanks shall be tendered them in the name of their compatriots. And—
"Resolved, Moreover, that we bind ourselves to assist them by our united suffrages in the attainment of any honor for which they shall hereafter be candidates, whether the dunce-block or the gold medal.
Anna Talbot, Chairman.
Ellen Morris, Secretary.
The event which had elicited this public manifestation, was to Ida, connected with too much that was unpleasant, to allow her to smile at the pompous communication. She passed it gravely to her neighbor. She laughed at the ludicrous repetition of feminist in the second line, and at the conclusion, bounded upon the platform where stood Mr. Purcell's desk, and commenced a flourishing harangue "for herself and colleague," expressing their gratitude at the flattering tribute from their fellow-laborers, and pledging themselves to uphold forever their honor and lawful privileges. "In the language of your eloquent resolution, my sisters, we form a 'Young Ladies' Female Seminary'—womanfully will we battle for woman's rights."
"Hush-h-h!" and Mr. Purcell was discovered standing behind the crowd. He stood aside to let the blushing orator return to her seat, remarking in an under-tone as she passed, "I must take care to enlist such talents in my service—I shall be undone if they are directed against me."
"Oh Carry! what did he say?" whispered Fanny Porter.
"Nothing very dreadful," she returned, laughingly. Ida looked on in surprise, Josephine with scorn; but to the majority, this little episode in their monotonous life was a diverting entertainment.
"Give me a girl who is not too proud to relish a joke," said Ellen Morris. "Ida Ross is above such buffoonery. She would not have demeaned her dignity before the school."
"But Carry spoke for her too," said Emma Glenn, a meek, charitable creature: "Perhaps modesty, not pride, kept her silent."
"Fiddlesticks!" was the school-girlish rejoinder.
Ida had missed a chance for making herself popular. The girls were moved to admiration by her manner of resenting Alboni's rudeness, and their joy at getting rid of him, assumed the shape of gratitude to their champion. She was for the hour a heroine, and might have retained her stand, but for her cool treatment of their advances. She saw, without understanding the reason of the change, that there was now a mingling of dislike in their neglect; and as she sank in their esteem, Carry mounted. Mr. Purcell never noticed her out of the recitation room—Mr. Read was more lofty—Josephine more contemptuous than ever. Inmates of one house—occupying adjacent chambers—sitting at the same board at home, and within speaking distance at school, the two girls had not one feeling in common—a spark of affection one for the other. Open ruptures were infrequent now, although they were innumerable during the first months of their companionship. They appeared together in public—this Mr. Read enjoined "It was due to his reputation, people should not say that his daughter's privileges exceeded his ward's." Further than this he did not interfere. He saw them only at meal-times, and in the evening; then Josephine presided over the tea-tray with skill and grace, and amused him, if he wished it, by reading, singing or talking. Ida did as she pleased. There were no requirements, no privations. In the eyes of the world her situation was unexceptionable. They knew nothing of the covert sneers which smiled down any tendency to what the torpid minds of the father and daughter considered undue enthusiasm; their sarcastic notice of her "singularities," their studied variance with her views;—but to her, bondage and cruelty would have been more tolerable. Yet this mocking surveillance—this certainty of ridicule, could not always check the earnest expression of a grasping intellect and ardent temperament; and there were not a few who frequented the house, who preferred the piquancy of her conversation, when they could draw her out of the snow-caverns of her reserve, to the trite common-places and artificial spirits of Miss Read.