“‘The Primavera,’ that’s by Botticelli,” went on the girl, infatuated by her own intelligence. “Good artist, but I don’t care for the old masters as a general thing. They are always out of drawing.”
Katherine rolled her eyes up into her head until only the whites could be seen, which gave her the horrible aspect of a corpse.
There was a long and eloquent silence. Presently Minerva took her departure, and Molly, hospitable to the last gasp, saw her to the door and invited her to come again.
With the door safely locked and Minerva out of earshot, there was a general collapse. Nobody laughed, but the room was filled with painful sounds, moans and groans. Judy pretended to faint on top of Edith, and Molly sat in a remote corner of the room.
Somehow, they felt beaten, vanquished.
“I am sore all over with repressed emotions,” cried Judy. “I couldn’t stand another séance like that.”
“Does she know as much as she claims?” asked Nance.
“Of course not,” exclaimed Margaret irritably. “If she really knew she wouldn’t claim anything. It’s only ignorant people who boast of knowledge. I suppose she has been looked up to for so long that she regards herself as a fountain of wisdom.”
“She must be taken down,” said Edith firmly. “This mustn’t be allowed to go on at Wellington.”
“But hazing isn’t allowed,” put in Molly.