One day she condescended to stop and speak a few words from her throne among the cushions.
“How de do? So sowwy not to have been to see you! Fwightfully busy, don’t you know. We are decowating the wooms, and don’t know how to furnish in time. It’s going to be quite charming!”
“We know! We know! Rob told us. I’m dying to see it. You should ask Peggy to help you if you are in a hurry. She’s s—imply splendid at decorations! Mother says she never knew anyone so good at it as Peggy!” cried Mellicent, with an outburst of gushing praise, in acknowledgment of which she received a thunderous frown and such a sharp pinch on the arm as penetrated through all her thick winter wrappings.
Rosalind, however, only ejaculated, “Oh, weally!” in an uninterested manner, and whipped up her ponies without taking any further notice of the suggestion; but it had taken root in her mind all the same, and she did not forget to question her brother on the first opportunity.
Mellicent Asplin had said that Peggy Saville was clever at decoration. Was it true, and would it be the least use asking her to come and help in the decorations?
Robert laughed, and wagged his head with an air of proud assurance.
Clever! Peggy? She was a witch! She could work wonders! If you set her down in an empty room, and gave her two-and-sixpence to transform it into an Alhambra, he verily believed she could do it. The way in which she had rigged up the various characters for the Shakespeare reading was nothing short of miraculous. Yes, indeed, Peggy would be worth a dozen ordinary helpers. The question was, would she come?
“Certainly she will come. I’ll send down for her at once,” said Rosalind promptly, and forthwith sat down and wrote a dainty little note, not to Peggy herself, but to Mrs. Asplin, stating that she had heard great accounts of Peggy Saville’s skill in the art of decoration, and begging that she might be allowed to come up to the Larches to help with the final arrangements, arriving as early as possible on the day of the party, and bringing her box with her so as to be saved the fatigue of returning home to dress. It was a prettily-worded letter, and Mrs. Asplin was dismayed at the manner of its reception.
“No, Peggy Saville won’t!” said that young person, pursing her lips and tossing her head in her most high and mighty manner. “She won’t do anything of the sort! Why should I go? Let her ask some of her own friends! I’m not her friend! I should simply loath to go!”
“My dear Peggy! When you are asked to help! When this entertainment is given for your pleasure, and you can be of real use——”