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It was a most absurd chair, rustic to begin with, with a pink cushion covered with white net and ruffled, and pink ribbons anchoring another pink and net cushion at its back. Mrs. O'Mara, hovering hospitably, saw Marjorie eying it, and beamed proudly. "That's Peggy's chair," she said. "Peggy's me little daughter." "Oh, that's nice," said Marjorie. "How old is she?" "Just a young thing," said Mrs.
The next moment, not only with Vera's but also with Peggy's and Alice Ashton's aid, the four women dragged forward a large wooden box with open slats containing a noble collection of fowls, then another of geese and ducks. Finally with extreme caution they engineered the landing of a crate which had been the temporary home of a comfortable American hog and her eugenic family.
Peggy's voice grew shrill with excitement. "The Piccadilly Magazine." "Wh-at!" Robert grabbed at the envelope, read the words himself, and stared at her with sparkling eyes. "It is! It's the prize, Mariquita! It must be. What else would they write about? Open it and see. Quick! Shall I do it for you?" "Yes, yes!" cried Peggy breathlessly.
"If you could do that for about two weeks I am sure you would be able to ride BEAUTIFULLY at the end of them." "Not in the morning, I'm afraid. You see I am an Annapolis co-ed," Polly answered laughing gaily at Peggy's mystified expression. "Yes I am, truly. You see I came down here to spend the winter with Aunt Janet because she is lonely when Uncle Glenn is away.
And at Peggy's laugh, his face flushed hotly. "The reason that sounds so funny," Peggy explained, "is because I was thinking of a friend of my father's. He's a college professor, and sometimes he comes to visit us in his vacation. He was twenty when he first learned to read and write. How's that for a late start? And see where he's got to!" Jerry leaned toward her confidentially.
The sea seemed to wait for every fresh lash of the blast; and when the grey water sprang into brief spurts of spray you felt how cruelly Peggy's bare limbs were cut by the wind. But she took it all kindly, and made no moan about anything. Towards eight o'clock you would meet her tramping over the sand with her great creel full of bait slung on her forehead.
She turned her face towards the girl and smiled at her, with sweet, tired eyes, and Peggy's heart gave a sickening throb of apprehension. She put out her hand and slid it lovingly through the other's arm. "Of course I'll go, and proud that you ask me! Poor darling! so that is the way you do your shop-staring! It is just like you to allow yourself to be blamed, rather than give pain or anxiety.
And would Peggy have understood the story of Jeanne? Could Peggy, in her plain-sailing, breezy British way, have appreciated all the subtleties of his relations with Jeanne? She would ask pointed, probably barbed, questions about Jeanne. She would tear the whole romance to shreds. Jeanne stood too exquisite a symbol for him to permit the sacrilege of Peggy's ruthless vivisection.
As the morning passed away, Peggy found indeed that the Honourable Miss Darcy was a broken reed to lean upon in the way of assistance. She sat on a stool and looked on while the other workers hammered and pinned and stitched so that Peggy's prophecy as to her own subordinate position was exactly reversed, and the work of supervision was given entirely into her hands.
Durand's face was first a thunder-cloud and then became crimson, but not on his own account: Durand was no fool to the ways of foolish women; his mortification was for Peggy's sake; he loathed the very thought of having her brought in touch with such shallowness, exposed to such vulgarity, and the charm of their rarely frank intercourse invaded by suggestions of silly sentimentality.
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