"Has she a friendship with Mr.—Mr. Piggy?"
"No, she hasn't. He just wants her to marry him, and that's all there is about it. If your brother is her friend, it would be the part of a good friend to stick around just now, if only by correspondence."
"There are things about my brother that you don't understand, Peggy," Elizabeth said, solemnly.
"Thirty-four," Peggy said, her gaze diverted to the street, "count that one, Elizabeth. It may be that same chauffeur, but never mind. We don't know positively that it is."
"Well, now for Jean," Elizabeth said, after these formalities were finished.
Elspeth-Elizabeth dear:
I've had your long letter, the one that told about the Steppe children (and how I laughed!), for a week, and your two postcards I wrote you one serious letter in answer to a serious one from you, and now I'll just tell you about the way things are going here. It's just the same thing—sailing, teas, dances, bathing, and then begin all over and do it again. I like it all—especially the sailing—"a wet sheet and a flowing sea," you know, is one of my ideals. Another ideal is getting realized, too. I'm learning to drive the car. I bogged it yesterday, and a farmer with whiskers to his knees, and a long rope, like the funny papers, came and pulled us out. The chauffeur was with me. He ought to have prevented it, but he said I was too quick for him. Anyhow, won't it be wonderful when I learn? Then you and I can "ride together, forever ride," as Browning says.
I went into New York on Thursday, and what do you think, I went to see your brother Buddy. I called up your mother from the station and she suggested it, so I did, as we had the car and were going out of New York from his end of the town, anyway. I felt two ways about doing so. One way was, that it was hard on you for me to see him first, and the other way was that if you couldn't see him, I could represent you. He is quite a sick-looking Buddy, but very, very sweet and dear. I hope you can get him down to the Cape and take care of him. They won't discharge him, will they, until they get good and ready to? He looks a lot like you and a lot like some of those Rembrandt portraits of himself. I suppose it's his beard that makes him look so sort of shady and shadowy. He said he didn't think he would ever be any better, but that if he did, he hoped he could go to Russia. He seemed to want me to think that this and everything else he said was a joke. I must interrupt myself now, and say au revoir, because the car is waiting, and Mother is being very polite in it. I can see her back getting politer every minute.
'bye—
Jean.
P. S. I love you.
"I didn't know that your brother was as sick as all that," Peggy said. "Why haven't you told me so?"
"He doesn't want anybody told. He doesn't want to appear like a confirmed invalid."
"I'd like to tell Ruthie."
"I—I'll tell you what you do. You take Jeanie's letter and read it to her. That won't be either of us telling her."