Grace's gesture reminded Peggy of one who, coming from the darkness of a cellar, blinks and shrinks away from the sunshine.
"Not yet. Not quite yet," she pleaded. "Let me get a little used to things first." And Peggy wisely forbore to press her, guessing that as soon as Grace began to live normally her unnatural shrinking from companionship would disappear.
It was an exciting evening. Peggy stayed till her mother telephoned to ask if anything was the matter. When some reference was made to Elaine's headache, Elaine protested.
"Headache! I haven't any headache. I never felt better in my life."
Peggy viewed her with approval. It was not only that Elaine's color had returned, and her languid eyes had brightened. There was another change, indefinable, but not to be mistaken. When courage and resolution come flooding back into a heart deprived of both the least observing cannot fail to note the difference.
"Going to the office, to-morrow?" Peggy demanded, as she rose to go.
"Of course."
"And you're not going to say silly things any more, are you, about people who look down on you?"
"I'm not going to be beaten by my sister. Grace needn't think she's got a monopoly in the courage of the family." Elaine slipped her arm about Grace's shoulders, her face so transformed by tenderness and pride that it was hardly recognizable.
Grace looked rueful over the implied compliment. "I'm afraid neither of us could be called heroines. But Peggy's started us right, and we'll have to help each other to be brave."