They followed the slow
grace of her arms and hands--it was, indeed, as if she held them in
the hollow of her hand. And then, finally, when she had come to the
last undulating cadence, the last vibrantly sustained phrase, as she
paused and bowed, there was a moment of hush--and then the applause
began. Oh, what applause! And then, slowly, graciously, modestly but
with a certain queenly pride, the shining figure in white turned and
left the stage.
She could see it all: the way her "waved" hair would fluff out and
catch the light like a kind of halo, and each one of the nine
organdie ruffles that were going to trim the bottom of her dress;
she could even see the glossy, dark green background of potted
palms--mother had promised to lend her two biggest ones. Yes, she
could see it and hear it to the utmost completeness--save for one
slight detail: that was the words of the girlish and queenly
speaker. It seemed all wrong that she, who wasn't going to be a dull
lecturer, should have to use words, and so many of them! You see,
Missy hadn't yet written the Valedictory.
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