“I’m glad it—didn’t happen in Springfield,” was the first thing Peggy said.
“Ye-es,” admitted Katherine, standing uncertainly in the middle of the room. And then she added irrelevantly: “I think there are awfully nice girls in this house.”
Peggy buried her little burning face in the upholstery of the window seat. “Do—you?” she asked in muffled tones. “I didn’t dare look at them.”
“I thought they seemed a very—jolly set,” pursued Katherine tentatively.
She was rewarded by a rueful chuckle from the figure on the window seat.
“And anyway,” Katherine followed up her advantage, “they did notice us,—more than they do most freshmen. Paid rather particular attention, in fact.”
That was too much for happy-go-lucky little Peggy and she laughed until she shook, even while the contradictory tears ran forth from her swollen eyes and trickled through her fingers onto the green leather seat-cushion.
“I—I’ll—never go down to luncheon, Kathie,” she protested between a laugh and a sob. “I’ll never go outside this room again. I can’t possibly bear to look them in the face.”
Rap-tap-tap!
Katherine whirled toward the door and Peggy sat up.