And this he did.
He met her at the foot of the path when he saw all the lights disappear in the house.
They walked across the lawns and meadows on that beautiful July night with the moon shining down on them.
Once at the great hall his mother put the gauche little Peg at her ease, introduced her to the most charming of partners, and saw that everything was done to minister, to her enjoyment.
It was a wonderful night for Peg.
She danced every dance: she had the supper one with Jerry: she laughed and sang and romped and was the centre of all the attention. What might have appeared boldness in another with Peg was just her innocent, wilful, child-like nature. She made a wonderful impression that night and became a general favourite. She wanted it to go on and on and to never stop. When the last waltz was played, and encored, and the ball was really ended, Peg felt a pang of regret such as she had not felt for a long, long time.
It was the first real note of pleasure she had experienced in England and now it was ended and tomorrow had to be faced and the truth told. What would happen? What course would Mrs. Chichester take? Send her away? Perhaps—and then—? Peg brushed the thought away. At all events she had enjoyed that ones wonderful evening.
"Oh, I am so happy! So happy!" she cried, as Jerry led her back to her seat at the conclusion of the last dance. "Sure the whole wurrld seems to be goin' round and round and round in one grand waltz. It's the first time I've been ralely happy since I came here. And it's been through you! Through you! Thank ye, Jerry."
"I'm glad it has been through me, Peg," said Jerry quietly.
"Faith these are the only moments in life that count—the happy ones. Why can't it always be like this? Why shouldn't we just laugh and dance our way through it all?" went on Peg excitedly. The rhythm of the movement of the dance was in her blood: the lights were dancing before her eyes: the music beat in on her brain.