"Yes," I replied, "Miss Peggy Neal."
"Don't any such lady live heah, suh."
"Strange," I murmured, and was about to turn away when a woman clad in a floating light-blue robe, her face indefinite in the dimly illumined hallway, but apparently young and pretty, or even beautiful, perhaps, and with an amazing quantity of golden hair, slipped through the portiéres and pushed aside the maid.
"I am Peggy Neal," she said, in a low voice. "What is wanted?"
"You!" I gasped, but Letitia had left the carriage and was at my shoulder.
"Peggy!" she said.
"Miss Primrose! And this is—Dr. Weatherby!"
"Dear Peggy," Letitia murmured, kissing the astonished girl on both powdered cheeks. "But how you've changed! You're so pale, Peggy—and your eyes—and your hair—Peggy, what have you done to your hair?"
"Yes, my hair," murmured Peggy.