A faint color crept into Hugh's brown cheek.
"My dear little Peggy," he said, "you must not be so imaginative. It is a new trait in you. What possible objection could there be to a young lady climbing up the wall if she enjoys it? It seemed—a little unusual, I suppose, and so I was interested. Was I indiscreet? I hardly supposed you would be having confidences with young Merryweather quite so soon."
"Hugh, don't be ridiculous. Then it's all right, and I am so glad! Thank you, dear."
She was springing away, but Hugh called her back.
"One moment, Peggy. This—this friend of yours seems to be a remarkable person. Has she other accomplishments besides climbing? Did I hear you speak of singing?"
"Oh, Hugh, I wish you could hear her sing! You might have heard her last night, if you had only been out. It was full moon, and the moon makes her mad, she says. Anyhow, when the moon is out she is wilder than ever, fuller of—whatever it is that she is full of; I don't know, something like a spirit, or a bird. Once I saw her dance in the moonlight, and I shall never forget it as long as I live."
"No more shall I," said Hugh, under his breath. "Thank you, Peggy," he said aloud. "Don't let me keep you, my dear; or were you coming with us?"
"Oh, I don't know, Hugh; I want to do so many things, all at once. I want to show Jean the house, and the garden, and the summer-houses, and—oh! oh, you darlings! you beauties! Hugh, do look at these lovely duckies!"
The "lovely duckies" were Nip and Tuck, who came leaping and dancing up the walk, wagging and sneezing, with every demonstration of frantic joy.
"Which is which? Nip, oh, you dear! Give a paw! Do they know how to give a paw, Hugh?"