"Who cares?" said Peggy. "He's dead, anyhow. Oh, how it used to provoke my dearest Margaret when I said that. I only mean, I never see how it can matter so much as people think. But you are not dead, Lobelia; and the idea of your being killed, here in this school, in the nineteenth century! Why, it is absurd, don't you see? It is funny! You must laugh about it, my dear!"
Lobelia, with an effort, produced a watery smile; seeing which, Peggy's mood changed, and she laid her hand instantly on the skinny, shrinking arm.
"My dear, don't think I was laughing at you," she cried, warmly. "No; I am going to be furious in a minute, when I get round to that part again. Well, but Lobelia, Blanche Haight is gone now, and a good riddance, and yet you say you are still afraid. What are you afraid of?"
"I—I don't know who it is now!" said Lobelia. "But some one comes through, just the same."
"How do you mean, just the same? some one pinches you?"
"No! oh, no! this person never speaks to me or looks at me. It—she—only wants to go through the window. It has something light gray over its head and shoulders. It goes down the fire-escape and stays about half an hour, and then comes back. I—I don't mind it so very much, now. I dare say it's all right, only—I can't sleep very well, you know."
"I see!" said Peggy. "Well, I think we can settle that matter, Lobelia. Hush! here come the others. We won't say anything more about it now. Well, girls, how did it go? Isn't it a lovely little scramble?"
Rose Barclay and Viola appeared, with the other two just behind. Viola was panting, and her delicate colour was deepened by exertion till she was almost as rosy as her companion.
"My dear!" she cried. "You are responsible for my life! I am killed; simply killed, Peggy Montfort. I shall never recover from this awful fatigue, I know I shall not."
"Nonsense!" said Peggy, briefly. "Here! sit down here, V., and get your breath; you'll be all right in a minute. It wasn't bad, was it, Rose?"