And one girl created a laugh by announcing:
“The present picture represents a ‘Nocturne’ by Whistler.”
Then the janitor began lighting gas jets along the wall and finally a lonesome gas jet on the stage faintly illumined the scene of confusion.
The gigantic gilt frame outlined a dark picture of hurrying forms, and huddled in the foreground lay a limp white object, for Botticelli’s “Flora” had fainted away.
The confusion increased. The President joined the excited seniors and presently the doctor appeared, fetched by the Professor of English Literature. “Flora” was lifted onto a couch; her own gray cape thrown over her, and opening her eyes in a few minutes, she became Molly Brown of Kentucky. She gazed confusedly at the faces hovering over her in the half light; the doctor at one side, the President at the other; Mary Stewart and Professor Green standing at the foot and a crowd of seniors like a mob in the background.
Suddenly Molly sat up. She brushed her auburn hair from her face and pointed vaguely toward the hall:
“I saw her when she——” she began. Her eye caught Professor Green’s, and she fell back on the couch.
“You saw what, my child?” asked the President kindly.
“I reckon I was just dreaming,” answered Molly, her Southern accent more marked than ever before.
The President of the senior class now hurried up to the President of Wellington University.