“I know, dear, and it did my heart good to know you were thinking of me. I feel so alone, so utterly alone.” Beatrice stopped to control her voice, and Peggy, with loving sympathy, threw her arm about her shoulders.
They made a charming foil sitting side by side on the divan, one so dark in her stately beauty, the other so fair and winsome, their faces seen first in shadow then in light as the fickle wood fire flickered to and fro on the wide hearth.
“There, I did not intend to allude to the terrible happenings. Since the funeral, which was private, I have tried not to let my mind dwell on the tragedy. Otherwise I think I should go mad. I cannot, cannot speak of it even to you, dearest.” Her hands twitched spasmodically, and she bit her lips to hide their trembling. Regaining her composure by a desperate effort, she signed to Wilkins to move the tea table nearer the fire. “Two lumps and lemon, Peggy?”
“Yes, please, and very weak.”
“It was dear of you to come out in this snow storm.”
“Puf! I don’t care that for a storm.” Peggy snapped her fingers derisively. “I had been in all day and was longing for fresh air when you telephoned me. And the walk up here did me no end of good. I always eat too much at Granny’s lunches.”
“Tell me who were there?”
“Oh! just the Topic Club. One of the members gave out at the eleventh hour, and Granny asked me to take her place.”
“It must have been interesting,” ejaculated Beatrice.
The Topic Club, composed of eleven witty women, was a time-honored institution in the Capital. It met once a month at the different members’ houses. Each hostess was always allowed to ask one of her friends to make the twelfth guest, an invitation eagerly sought for. The topic to be discussed was written on the back of the place cards.