But Peggy seemed restless. She wandered round the little sitting-room, minutely examining photographs and pictures which she already knew by heart.
"Peggy Falconer," enquired Miss Leslie at last, "will you come and sit down in that chair, or will I take you by the shoulders and put you there?"
"Sorry, dear," said Peggy; "I have the fidgets."
She dropped rather listlessly into a chair, and then, for no apparent reason, got up and sat in another.
"Why is my best chair not good enough for you?" enquired Miss Leslie sternly. "At your age, you ought not to be manœuvring to get your back to the window."
"It wasn't that, really," protested Peggy.
"It just was," replied Miss Leslie.
She rose from her seat, and taking the girl by the elbows, turned her toward the light. Peggy submitted, smiling.
"And now," resumed Jean Leslie, sitting down again, "what is the trouble?"
"You really are very Early-Victorian, Jean," said Peggy severely. "You yearn for sentimental confidences and heart-to-heart talks. But it's simply not done now: hearts went out with chignons. Give me a large and heavy piece of that muffin, please, and I will pander to your tastes by talking about Prince Adolphus."