“No,” said Peggy, “that would be too absurd; I won’t——”
“Well,” conceded Hazel, laughing, “you don’t really need it; your face is as red as fire now. You seem to think your looks are very much changed. But they’re just improved. Everybody will still recognize you, you know, Peggy, infant.”
“They’re here; they’re here,” an excited buzz went through the second floor, at the word of some generous messenger, who had run up for a minute from below, to spread the news.
Peggy forgot everything in the haste she made to get down to greet the boys, for she was responsible for the coming of a large number of the guests, and she thought how peculiar Jim would think it if she were not even there to welcome them.
“Jim,” she cried, holding out her hand. “I’m awfully glad to see you. And Mr. Bevington, too. No, you’re not a bit early. We’ve been upstairs twiddling our thumbs and wondering why in the world—we thought the Ford must have broken down, you know,” she added as she opened the door into the big reception room, which looked very lovely with its many purple banners.
With the handsome Amherst contingent at her heels, Peggy carried her small curly head high while a pardonable pride shone in her eyes.
A gasp went up from the groups of girls, who were standing about in different parts of the big room, talking to the few guests who had arrived before the Amherst men.
“Look what Peggy Parsons has with her,” murmured Doris Winterbean to Florence Thomas, while the small princess advanced, chatting with her subjects.
Never had such a fine set of young men descended upon Ambler—or any other campus house, for any occasion except the incomparable annual occasion of Junior prom.
“Doris, let me present Mr. Bevington, who plays on the football team; and Mr. Mason, the president of the dramatic club, and Mr. Brown, the one who wrote that article we were all so crazy about in their paper.”