"Are there any lilies-of-the-valley out anywhere near?" asked Mabel.
"No, it's too early for them."
"Then somebody else must have the same scent, or have picked up Peachy's mouchoir by mistake."
A general examination of handkerchiefs followed, but each girl disclaimed all responsibility for the delicate odor.
"Queer! I can't understand it. However, let's get to business. Our waxworks are absolutely going to take the shine out of their stupid old toy-shop. The only trouble is how we're going to get hold of the right costumes. There's Queen Elizabeth now—I can manage her skirt, but I want something for her farthingale. What can we raise?"
"Peachy has a lovely flowered silk dressing-gown," remarked Mabel. "It would be just the thing."
"Suppose she uses it herself though."
"I won't give her a chance. I'll take it out of her cubicle the night before and hide it."
"O-o-h! You will! Will you?" exploded a voice from the interior of the Greek jar. "We'll just see about that."
The fact was that Peachy's crouching position had grown intolerable. She was bound to move and reveal herself, and her indignation at Mabel's cool suggestion flamed forth through the peep-hole.