They pitied her sincerely and did their best to console her. But they were wise people, and perhaps they knew that their eldest daughter needed to be humbled just a little. It was hard, very hard, yet sometimes it is the hard things which do us most good.
"O mamma, don't ask me to go down to dinner. I can't, I can't!"
"No indeed, darling, your dinner shall be sent up to you. What would you like?"
"No matter what, mamma—I don't care for eating. I can't ever hold up my head any more. And as for going into that school again, I never, never, never will do it."
"I think you will, my daughter," said Mr. Dunlee, quietly. "I think you'll go back and live this down and 'twill soon be all forgotten."
"O papa, do you really, really think 'twill ever be forgotten? Do you think so, mamma? A silly, disgraceful, foolish, outrageous, abominable,—there, I can't find words bad enough!"
As her parents were leaving the room she revived a little and added:—
"Remember, mamma, just soup and chicken and celery. But a full saucer of ice-cream. I hope 'twill be vanilla."