“I never before worked so hard to make conversation,” she confided to her grandmother in the privacy of her pretty bedroom. No matter how late Peggy stayed out, she always found her grandmother awake and waiting for her when she returned.
When no social engagements took her from home, Mrs. Macallister, who required very little sleep, always retired to her own sitting room about ten o’clock. She dressed in a warm wrapper and made herself comfortable by her reading lamp and perused magazines and the latest novels at her leisure.
“You see, Granny, it was a mixed affair,” explained Peggy, sitting on the edge of her bed while she took down and shook out her lovely “lint white locks,” as Dick called them. “And one man gave out at the last moment, so I sat between old Mr. Forsythe and Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Good Heavens! what a combination! Were you the only young person present?”
“No; Sybil Ferguson and Tony Forsythe were across the way from me, and Captain McLane sat by Mary Patterson. Mrs. Patterson invited Ned Morgan for me, but, as I said before, he could not come as he is ill in bed with grippe.”
“Did you play auction afterwards?”
“Yes. I had miserable luck; everything went against me,” Peggy sighed with vexation. “I even drew Mrs. Wheeler as my first partner. Have you ever played with her?”
“Once!” Mrs. Macallister’s tone spoke volumes. “Was Ruth Wheeler there, also?”
“No, she went to a débutante dinner given by the Wilsons. Oh, Granny, I must tell you something so funny. During dinner, Mr. Forsythe leaned across me and asked Mrs. Wheeler if Ruth enjoyed being out.
“‘She does indeed,’ answered Mrs. Wheeler, with a beaming smile, ‘and she has been a great success since her début last December. Why, Mr. Forsythe, she has already had two proposals and one hint.’”