“Get hold of Max, and coax him to go back for them!”
“He wouldn’t; it’s no use. It’s raining like anything, and it would take him an hour to go there and come back.”
“Ask Lady Darcy to send one of the servants—”
“No use, my dear. They are scampering up and down like mice, and haven’t a moment to spare from their own work.”
“See if Rosalind would lend me a pair!”
“Silly goose! Look at your foot. It is three times the size of hers. You will just have to wear them, I’m afraid. Give them to me, and let me see what can be done.” Peggy took the slippers in her hands and studied them critically. They were certainly not new, but then they were by no means old; just respectable, middle-aged creatures, slightly rubbed on the heel and white at the toes, but with many a day of good hard wear still before them.
“Oh, come,” she said reassuringly, “they are not so bad, Mellicent! With a little polish they would look quite presentable. I’ll tap at the door and ask Rosalind if she has some that she can lend us. She is sure to have it. There are about fifty thousand bottles on her table.”
Peggy crossed the room as she spoke, tapped on the panel, and received an immediate answer in a high complacent treble.
“Coming! Coming! I’m weady;” then the door flew open; a tiny pink silk shoe stepped daintily over
