Dana King, speaking again, referred to the "convincing way Miss Travis had cleverly upset the arguments of the negative side, leaving him only one premise to fall back upon"--and Jerry had decided then, with something akin to worship, that he was the very nicest boy she had ever, ever known.
There was tumultuous applause when the judges announced that the affirmative had won. And there was a little grumbling that Dana King had "sold" his side.
Jerry, wanting to hide her ignominy, contrived to get away without seeing Uncle Johnny. She could not, of course, escape Gyp, who declared valiantly and defiantly that she had been "splendid."
Gyp had not closely followed Cora Stanton's address, so she had not guessed the truth, and Jerry could not tell her--Jerry could not tell anyone. For, if she did, it must be traced to Isobel, and Isobel was Uncle Johnny's niece. At that very moment Uncle Johnny was talking, down in the front of the Assembly room, to Isobel and Amy Mathers, and he stood with one arm thrown over Isobel's shoulder.
But, alone in her own room, the pent-up passion that had been searing poor Jerry's soul burst; with furious fingers she tore off the brown poplin dress and threw it into a corner.
"Ugly--horrid--hideous--old--thing! I _hate_ it!" It was not, of course, the brown poplin alone she hated! The offending shoes followed the brown dress. "I hate _everything_ about me! I wish--I wish--to-morrow would never come! I wish----" Jerry threw herself face downward upon her bed. "I wish I--was--home!"
"A letter from Aunt Maria," announced Graham, appearing at the door of his mother's little sitting room, a large, square lavender envelope in his hand. He carried it gingerly between a thumb and finger, and as far as he could from his upturned nose, "I'd suggest, mother, that you put on my gas-mask before you open it!"
Gyp and Tibby laughed uproariously at his wit. Mrs. Westley reached for the envelope.
"Poor Aunt Maria, she must be so glad that the war is over and she can get her favorite French sachet."
Isobel perched herself upon the arm of her mother's chair.
"I'll bet she's coming to visit us," groaned Gyp.
"Don't expect us to throw away money, sis! She never writes 'cept when she _is_ coming. Break the news, mum; is it to be a little stay of a year or more?"