"We both worship at the same altar... but she is high priestess and I am only the humblest acolyte," wrote Emily in her journal.
Then she indited a very worshipful letter to Miss Royal, and rewrote it a dozen times, asking permission to interview her. After she had mailed it she could not sleep all night because it occurred to her that she should have signed herself "yours truly" instead of "yours sincerely." "Yours sincerely" smacked of an acquaintanceship that did not exist. Miss Royal would surely think her presuming.
But Miss Royal sent back a charming letter... Emily has it to this day.
"Ashburn, Monday.
"DEAR MISS STARR:...
"Of course you may come and see me and I'll tell you everything you want to know for Jimmy Towers (God rest his soul, an' wasn't he my first beau!) and everything you want to know for yourself. I think half my reason for coming back to P. E. I. this spring was because I wanted to see the writer of The Woman Who Spanked the King. I read it last winter when it came out in Roche's and I thought it charming. Come and tell me all about yourself and your ambitions. You ARE ambitious, aren't you? And I think you're going to be able to realize your ambitions, too, and I want to help you if I can. You've got something I never had... real creative ability... but I've heaps of experience and what I've learned from it is yours for the asking. I CAN help you to avoid some snares and pitfalls, and I'm not without a bit of 'pull' in certain quarters. Come to Ashburn next Friday afternoon when 'school's out' and we'll have a heart- to-heart pow-wow.
"Yours fraternally,
"JANET ROYAL."
Emily thrilled to the ends of her toes when she read this letter. "Yours fraternally"... oh, heavenly! She knelt at her window and looked out with enraptured eyes into the slender firs of the Land of Uprightness and the dewy young clover-fields beyond. Oh, was it possible that some day she would be a brilliant, successful woman like Miss Royal? That letter made it seem possible... made every wonderful dream seem possible. And on Friday... four more days... she was going to see and talk intimately with her high priestess.
Mrs. Angela Royal, who called to see Aunt Ruth that evening, didn't exactly seem to think Janet Royal a high priestess or a wonder. But then, of course, a prophetess is apt to have scant honour in her own country and Mrs. Royal had brought Janet up.
"I don't say but what she's got on well," she confided to Aunt Ruth. "She gets a big salary. But she's an old maid for all that. And as odd in some ways as Dick's hat-band."
Emily, studying Latin in the bay window, went on fire with indignation. This was nothing short of lese-majeste.
"She is very fine looking yet," said Aunt Ruth. "Janet was always a nice girl."
"Oh, yes, she's nice enough. But I was always afraid she was too clever to get married, and I was right. And she's full of foreign notions. She's never on time for her meals... and it really makes me sick the fuss she makes over that dog of hers... Chu-Chin, she calls it. HE rules the house. He does EXACTLY as he likes and nobody dare say a word. My poor cat can't call her soul her own. Janet is so touchy about him. When I complained about him sleeping on the plush davenport she was so vexed she wouldn't speak for a day. That's a thing I don't like about Janet. She gets so high and mighty when she's offended. And she gets offended at things nobody else would dream of minding. And when she's offended with one she's offended with everybody. I hope nothing will upset her before you come on Friday, Emily. If she's out of humour she'll visit it on you. But I will say for her that she doesn't often get vexed and there's nothing mean or grudging about her. She'd work her fingers to the bone to serve a friend."
When Aunt Ruth had gone out to interview the grocer's boy, Mrs. Royal added hurriedly,
"She's greatly interested in you, Emily. She's always fond of having pretty, fresh girls about her... says it keeps her feeling young. She thinks your work shows real talent. If she takes a fancy to you it would be a great thing for you. But, for pity's sake, keep on good terms with that chow! If you offend HIM, Janet wouldn't have anything to do with you supposing you were Shakespeare himself."
Emily awoke Friday morning with the conviction that this was to be one of the crucial days of her life... a day of dazzling possibilities. She had had a terrible dream of sitting spellbound before Miss Royal, unable to utter one word except "Chu-Chin," which she repeated parrot-like whenever Miss Royal asked her a question.
It poured rain all the forenoon, much to her dismay, but at noon it cleared up brilliantly and the hills across the harbour scarfed themselves in fairy blue. Emily hurried home from school, pale with the solemnity of the occasion. Her toilet was an important rite. She must wear her new navy-blue silk... no question about that. It was positively long and made her look fully grown up. But how should she do her hair? The Psyche knot had more distinction, suited her profile, and showed to better advantage under her hat. Besides, perhaps a bare forehead made her look more intellectual. But Mrs. Royal had said that Miss Royal liked pretty girls. Pretty, therefore, she must be at all costs. The rich black hair was dressed low on her forehead and crowned by the new spring hat which Emily had dared to buy with her latest cheque, in spite of Aunt Elizabeth's disapproval and Aunt Ruth's unvarnished statement that a fool and her money were soon parted. But Emily was glad now that she had bought the hat. She COULDN'T have gone to interview Miss Royal in her plain black sailor. This hat was very becoming with its cascade of purple violets that fell from it over the lovely, unbroken waves of hair, just touching the milk- whiteness of her neck. Everything about her was exquisitely neat and dainty: she looked... I like the old phrase... as if she had just stepped from a band-box. Aunt Ruth, prowling about the hall, saw her coming downstairs and realized, with something of a shock, that Emily was a young woman.
"She carries herself like a Murray," thought Aunt Ruth.
The force of commendation could no further go, though it was really from the Starrs that Emily had inherited her slim elegance. The Murrays were stately and dignified, but stiff.
It was quite a little walk to Ashburn, which was a fine old white house set far back from the street amid great trees. Emily went up the gravel walk, edged with its fine-fringed shadows of spring, as a worshipper approaching a sacred fane. A fairly large, fluffy white dog was sitting half-way up the gravel walk. Emily looked at him curiously. She had never seen a chow dog. She decided that Chu-Chin was handsome, but not clean. He had evidently been having a glorious time in some mud puddle, for his paws and breast were reeking. Emily hoped he would approve of her, but keep his distance.
Evidently he approved of her, for he turned and trotted up the walk with her, amiably waving a plumy tail... or rather a tail that would have been plumy had it not been wet and muddy. He stood expectantly beside her while she rang the bell, and as soon as the door was opened he made a joyous bound on the lady who stood within, almost knocking her over.