"Not a sound, aunt," agreed Peg.
"Good night," and Mrs. Chichester went to the stairs.
"Good night, aunt! Oh! there's somethin' else. I thought perhaps I would have to be gettin' back home to me father but I had a letther from him this mornin' an'. it was quite cheerful—so I think—if ye don't mind—I'd like to stay another month. Can I?"
"We'll talk it over with Mr. Hawkes in the morning," Mrs. Chichester said coldly and went on up the stairs.
Peg watched her out of sight then jumped up all excitement and danced around the room. She stopped by the table, locked at the open books in disgust—with a quick movement swept them off the table. Then she listened panic-stricken and hurriedly knelt down and picked them all up again. Then she hurried over to the windows and looked out into the night. The moonlight was streaming full down the path through the trees. In a few moments Peg went to the foot of the stairs and listened. Not hearing anything she crept upstairs into her own little Mauve-Room, found a cloak and some slippers and a hat and just as quietly crept down again into the living-room.
She just had time to hide the cloak and hat and slippers on the immense window-seat when the door opened and Ethel came into the room. She walked straight to the staircase without looking at Peg, and began to mount the stairs.
"Hello, Ethel!" called out Peg, all remembrance of the violent discussion gone in the excitement of the present. "I'm studyin' for an hour. Are yez still angry with me? Won't ye say I 'good night'? Well, then, I will. Good night, Ethel, an' God bless you."
Ethel disappeared in the bend of the stairs.
Peg listened again until all was still, then she crept across the room, turned back the carpet and picked up her treasure—her marvellous book of "Love-Stories."
She took it to the table, made an island of it as was her wont—and began to read—the precious book concealed by histories and atlases, et cetera.