When she opened her eyes, Peggie stood at her bedside, smiling over an armful of roses.
"Guess what little bird sent these to you," she said.
Prue started up eagerly. "Is he here?" Peggie shook her head. "What, did he go away without seeing me?" cried Prue, her face falling and her lip drooping like a grieved child.
"No, he sent them by his lackey. You had better make haste to be up and dressed, in case he comes to be thanked."
Prue jumped out of bed and began dressing in a great hurry.
"How comes he with a lackey, forsooth!" she said presently, feigning to cavil so that Peggie would go on talking.
"Why, does not Sir Geoffrey always send his lackey with flowers for you—and grandmother?" laughed Peggie.
"Sir Geoffrey!" cried Prue, starting away from the roses as though she had suddenly encountered their thorns.
"Of course; who did you think had sent them?" inquired Peggie blandly.
"Why—I thought—you said—Oh! Peggie, what did you mean by a little bird?" pouted Prue.