“I like him,” repeated Sally. “In very truth, Peggy Owen, doth thee not consider him the very nicest lad that we know?”
“And yet,” observed Peggy meditatively, addressing the darkness, “methinks there was a girl, not a hundred miles from this very bed, who told me that she agreed with my Cousin Harriet that Clifford excelled all other youths.”
“I am going to sleep,” announced Sally, turning over hastily. “Does thee not think it time? We had a wearisome journey.”
Peggy giggled appreciatively.
“That was a well directed shot,” she remarked, “since it hath reduced the ranks to silence.”
CHAPTER XII
“THEY MUST GO HOME”
“It wounds, indeed,
To bear affronts too great to be forgiven,
And not have power to punish.”