“Let’s see your note,” urged Katherine, when they were out of the crowd once more. “I want to look at it myself.”
Peggy eagerly unfolded the precious thing again and read, while Katherine looked over her shoulder:
“My dear Miss Parsons—or wouldn’t it be more like college to say Peggy?—I’m writing to ask you if we may not have for the Monthly that little poem of yours that was read in Thirteen to-day? There are some changes in four of the lines, and if you’ll come over to my room this afternoon, I want you to make them yourself so that there will be as little as possible of my scribbling in it. Hoping to see you,
Ditto Armandale, Monthly Board,
Room 11, Macefield House.”
“Why, Peggy, do you remember that Ditto Armandale we met that day last year while you were standing under the waterfalls? And it was the sight of her and all those other Hampton girls that first made you want to come here! Miss Armandale invited me to come and see her that day, when I should get to Hamp, and she said you were just the sort that ought to come here—oh, isn’t it fine, Peggy!”
“Yes, but look here,” said Peggy, who was still reading over her note, “she says ‘changes in four of the lines.’ There were only four lines in it, Katherine, you remember.”
“That’s queer. But I’d go anyway.”
“Of course I will,—I don’t suppose she’ll remember me, but I’m glad she’s the one, she looked so nice and considerate that day.”
“What are you going to wear?”
“It’s an invitation house. I suppose a person ought to be awfully dressy,” Peggy said doubtfully.
“I don’t know,” murmured Katherine. “I shouldn’t think it would be necessary to dress much if you were just one of the multitude like me. But being one of the youngest authors in college, it’s different with you.”