“I’ll catch up,” she said. “I’ve forgotten something. Go on.”
She ran up-stairs while the three outside the fir trees laughed.
“Didn’t she bite easily, though? I never thought she would bite like that. Poor Mrs. Hemans and Kipling!”
“It way mean,” admitted Virginia, “but I just couldn’t resist after that slam she gave Wyoming. I thought sure she’d see through it—Dorothy was so red; and, of course, I thought she knew ‘The breaking waves dashed high.’”
“The best part of it all is,” Dorothy whispered, “she’s gone up to find that paper. Martha cleans this afternoon, you know, and Lucile wants to use that oration. I’ll bet I’m not asked for any thoughts to-night!”
“Oh, no, she won’t!” cried Virginia. “Dorothy, do you suppose she will?”
“You wait and see! Of course she will. Lucile’s queer. She doesn’t have any thoughts; and she can’t see when a thing is funny. Miss Wallace doesn’t have them read aloud, does she, Priscilla? Lucile especially asked that, and I told her she didn’t.”
“She didn’t last year. Oh, if she did!”
They laughed again, but tried to calm down as Lucile, looking somewhat embarrassed, emerged from the fir trees. Then they proceeded to the “Forget-me-not,” where they found most of St. Helen’s assembled, and toasted the different classes and cottages in hot chocolate, served by a sallow youth with eye-glasses and a white duck coat, he evidently being likewise an innovation, like the chocolate and cakes.
On the way home Virginia’s conscience pricked a little, and she confessed a slight mean feeling to Priscilla.