“Won’t you go down to her room,” she questioned, “Number 20, and wait until she comes? I’m sure that would be better; then if she cares to see you, she can find you there.”
“Oh, she won’t want to see me,” retorted the woman. “I’ll just wait here. There ain’t any other door to that room she’s in, is there?”
Peggy’s heart turned sick.
“I will send her out to you,” she said quietly. “What is your name, please?”
“I’ll tell her my name,” answered the woman ungraciously.
“I think,” observed Peggy in a low tone, “that you had better tell me—wouldn’t that be best, Mrs. Ormsby?”
She appealed to the matron for confirmation.
“Certainly,” agreed Mrs. Ormsby, catching a little of Peggy’s quiet fire. “You shall at least send in your name.”
“Well,” grudged the woman, with a hateful smirk, “just tell Miss Hazeltine it’s Hart and Bates’ Dressmaking Establishment.”
“All right,” murmured Peggy, and laid her hand on the door.