Mrs. Forest gasped. “In the hall?” she asked sharply, “IN the hall?”
Peggy nodded.
“Mr. Huntington belongs to one of our old aristocratic families, here, Miss Parsons,” the principal began pompously. “He is a very proud and very retiring sort of person. Since he lost the vast fortune of the Huntingtons he has never cared for society and no one is welcome in his house. Although I am acquainted with the members of all the first families here, I have not had occasion to meet Mr. Huntington—though we all know him by sight. And I should prefer that my young ladies did not demean themselves and me by peering in at the hall windows and ferreting out the Sargents on the wall.”
“O-oh,” breathed Peggy, with the tiniest little society sigh. “Mr. Huntington is a very good friend of mine and as I stopped in to talk a moment with him to-day—”
One of the girls choked and ignominiously thrust her napkin almost into her month to keep back the strange chortlings and chucklings that were trying to break forth.
Mrs. Forest’s eyes grew round, but her face had that set expression maintained by a person who wants to show no surprise whatever, even in the face of one of the greatest shocks of her life.
“He is a friend of yours?—I didn’t know,” she murmured, all honey.
“Yes, and he so approves of my being in this school,” continued Peggy, with a graceful little rushing eagerness. “He says he thinks we learn just the right things. I told him about the cand—I mean I told him the things we learn and he said he approved of higher education for girls. He would like to meet you, Mrs. Forest.”
“So?” said Mrs. Forest in rather pleased surprise. “Well, I never thought he cared about meeting anybody—did he say anything like that, really?”
“Say?—why, he wants us to go there for Thanksgiving dinner!” cried Peggy rapturously. “You and me and the whole school!”