This would have been bad enough, but, to make matters worse, Peggy's conscience took a hand. An uncompromising monitor was this same conscience, sternly denying Peggy the luxury of self-pity, and arraigning her in a fashion little short of merciless. Ardently it pleaded Priscilla's cause. Her suspicions of Elaine were not without foundation. Peggy herself might have shared them had it not been for the extraordinary story to which she had listened. In any case, she had failed to show the patience due one friend from another. She who prided herself on her tact, had been brusque and tactless. Knowing poor Priscilla's weakness, she had not been on her guard. She had lost her friend, and for her comfort had the reflection that it was, in part at least, her own fault.
It was a blue week for Peggy, and hardly better for Priscilla. She studied cook books, planned out her menu, and tried to think that her low spirits were due to dreadful doubts as to Susan's salad dressing, while all the time she knew that she missed Peggy. She wanted to ask her opinion as to whether to order the ices from Bird's or Connally's, and to consult her about the place cards. How loyally Peggy would have counselled and lent her aid. Many a time she had helped some distracted hostess till she had barely time to fly home and change her dress before the appointed hour.
Saturday was cloudless, a fact which Priscilla came near resenting. Grey skies and a drizzle of rain would have harmonized better with her mood. Mrs. Combs was puzzled by the overcast face her daughter brought down to breakfast.
"What is it, child? Anything wrong with your plans?"
"No, I guess everything's all right," Priscilla responded in the most doleful of voices.
"A pleasant hostess is the chief factor in making pleasant guests. I advise smoothing a few of those wrinkles out of your forehead when you attend to the rest of your toilet," advised Mrs. Combs, smilingly, and she was more puzzled than ever when Priscilla received her counsel with a sigh.
The luncheon hour was set for one o'clock, but at half past twelve, the girls began to arrive, formality never being much in evidence on Friendly Terrace.
"Wonder if Peggy's here yet," Ruth remarked, as she stood before Priscilla's mirror, giving her hair the little caressing pats whose importance every girl understands.
"I don't believe Peggy is coming." It was Blanche Estabrook who made the remark, apparently without realizing its importance.
Ruth and Amy whirled about. "Not coming!" they exclaimed in a breath.