Dick stood in the hall, a prey to remorse. Peggy was sick, and he had invited company to supper. He realized, with the fatal clearness, which so often accompanies an afterthought, that even if Peggy had not been suffering, the invitation was distinctly inconsiderate. With her school work, and the cares of the house on her shoulders, she was doing too much, at the best of times. Ordinarily Dick did not lack courage, but with his conscience against him the prospect of making a full acknowledgment to Peggy was an ordeal from which he shrank.
After ten minutes of aimless waiting Dick pushed open the door and advanced into the kitchen on tiptoe, a relic of earlier days, when he had somehow formed the impression that not making a noise was equivalent to being good. Peggy turned her pale face in his direction.
"Is that you, Dick? I wish--" She broke off, staring with surprise at her brother's crestfallen figure. "Why, Dick? Is anything the matter?"
"STARING WITH SURPRISE AT HER BROTHER'S CRESTFALLEN FIGURE."
"Yes." The one miserable word came out with uncompromising bluntness.
Peggy was still staring. "But nothing much, is it, Dick?"
"Yes." Dick had taken a surreptitious glance at his sister, and his burden of self-reproach had at once grown heavier. "It's awful."
Peggy's thoughts flew to her mother. Or perhaps Dorothy had met with an accident. She was such a flyaway. Or could it be that Alice-- She dropped into a chair. "Tell me, Dick," she begged, her lips very white.
"I--I hate to so I can't." Shame made Dick's voice tragic.