"Oh, sometime this forenoon. Horace thought about eleven. And that's another thing that puzzles me," exclaimed Priscilla unhappily. "Ought I to dress up, do you think, as long as I'm expecting a call?"
"I'd wear my blue serge, if I were you. Blue serge is always safe and, besides, you look awfully well in that dress. And you need not worry about the maid. I'm it."
"Why, Peggy, what do you mean?"
"Don't insult me by asking for Sally, and then pretending that I won't do. I've got a black dress and a cute little ruffled apron, and I'm just aching to try my hand at one of those fetching caps the maids wear in the movies."
"But, Peggy, suppose Horace should come with his aunt!"
"You don't expect him, do you?"
"No. I'm sure he didn't plan to come last evening. But he might change his mind."
"We'll keep on the look-out. If we see a lady arriving with a young man in tow, I'll roll my cap and apron into a bundle and put them under my arm. Then I'll be your friend, Peggy Raymond, making a morning call. But if the lady is alone, I'm Margaret, the maid."
Priscilla was hardly arrayed in her blue serge when Peggy arrived, and the two girls inspected each other admiringly. The Plainness of the blue serge set off the long lines of Priscilla's slender, graceful figure, while the little frilled, nonsensical cap gave a charm to Peggy's mischievous face. "You look like a queen," Peggy declared.