"
The speaker was Louise Rutherford--her face aglow with an
enthusiasm, called up by those pleasing associations which gave rise
to her speech.
"Louise Rutherford," said Helen Rushton, the color mounting higher
in her cheeks, "you misinterpret my thoughts. If I have not
sufficient command of the powers of speech to express myself without
blunder, you should not attribute it to want of charity. Indeed,"
added the girl, with more than due emphasis, "if, for no other
reason, I should speak respectfully of the place, from the fact that
I have very dear friends there."
"Josie, this is all your doings," cried Marguerite, raising her hand
in a menacing gesture and trying playfully to restore quiet.
"I'm always bent upon mischief," cried Josie, her eyes sparkling
with merriment. "Indeed, at home, I am treated to that highly-
seasoned speech every hour of the day, and now I don't think I could
live without it."
"Helen, my dear, I did not"--"think to shed a tear in all my
miseries," shouted Josie, in a stagy and tragic style, and then,
'twixt laughter and song, attempted a series of courtesies worthy a
star actress.
"Why did you interrupt Louise when she was going to say something
good?" asked Marguerite in a half-reproachful tone.
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