“Napoleon was small,” remarked the judge teasingly, “and William Third and Louis Fourteenth.”
“I know what you think of two of those!” objected Gertrude; “we remember our history lessons here, don’t we, Rose?”
“Well—but when a rogue’s famous!” said the judge, and went out smiling at his own jest.
Miss English walked over to the window and watched Rose water her plants and turn them religiously to the sun.
“Take off your hat, Gertrude,” she said pleasantly; “you really look tired; can’t you stay awhile?”
Gertrude shook her head. “No,” she said firmly; “I’ve got about a million notes to write for Margaret and the lunch cards to get ready for to-morrow; to-night she dines the President. I’m tired of it; I wish I could make money cracking stones!”
“Poor Gerty!” Rose looked at her with gentle concern; “you’re very pale, you look as if you hadn’t slept.”
“I haven’t,” said Miss English flatly, “not a wink.”
“I hope Margaret doesn’t make you work late,” Rose murmured, beginning to search again for dead leaves.
“Margaret?” the little secretary sat down and leaned her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands; “Rose, I’m so sorry for her!”