It would have been hard for any girl under the circumstances, but it was doubly hard when that girl was so dependent on her friends, and so sensitive and reserved in disposition as Peggy Saville. She would not deign to complain or to ask for signs of affection which were not voluntarily given, but her merry ways disappeared, and she became so silent and subdued that she was hardly recognisable as the audacious Peggy of a few weeks earlier.
“Peggy’s so grumpy,” Mellicent complained to her mother. “She never laughs now, nor makes jokes, nor flies about as she used to do! She’s just as glum and mum as can be, and she never sits with us! She is always in her bedroom with the door locked, so that we can’t get in! She’s there now! I think she might stay with us sometimes! It’s mean, always running away!”
Mrs Asplin drew her brows together and looked worried. She had not been satisfied about Peggy lately, and this news did not tend to reassure her. Her kind heart could not endure that anyone beneath her roof should be ill or unhappy, and the girl had looked both during the last few days. She went upstairs at once and tapped at the door, when Peggy’s voice was raised in impatient answer.
“I can’t come! Go away! I’m engaged!”
“But I want to speak to you, dear! Please let me in!” she replied in her clear, pleasant tones; whereupon there was a hasty scamper inside, and the door was thrown open.
“Oh–h! I didn’t know it was you; I thought it was one of the girls. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
Mrs Asplin gave a glance around. The gas-fire was lit, but the chair beside it stood stiffly in the corner, and the cushion was uncrushed. Evidently, the girl had not been sitting there. The work-basket was in its accustomed place, and there were no cottons or silks lying about—Peggy had not been sewing at Christmas presents, as she had half hoped to find her. A towel was thrown over the writing-table, and a piece of blotting-paper lay on the floor. A chair was pushed to one side, as if it had been lately used. That looked as if she had been writing letters.
“Peggy dear, what are you doing all by yourself in this chilly room?”
“I’m busy, Mrs Asplin. I lit the fire as soon as I came in.”
“But a room does not get warm in five minutes. I don’t want you to catch cold and be laid up with a sore throat. Can’t you bring your writing downstairs and do it beside the others?”