"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 quant.i.ty of golden hair, slipped through the portieres and pushed aside the maid.

"I am Peggy Neal," she said, in a low voice. "What is wanted?"

"You!" I gasped, but Let.i.tia had left the carriage and was at my shoulder.

"Peggy!" she said.

"Miss Primrose! And this is--Dr. Weatherby!"

"Dear Peggy," Let.i.tia 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.

"Why, it used to be jet," Let.i.tia said. "But you don't ask us in, my dear--and here we've come all the long way from Gra.s.sy Ford to see you."

"Hush!" said Peggy, and Let.i.tia paused, for the first time noting the voices in the inner rooms.

"Oh," she whispered, "I see: you have a party."

"Yes," Peggy answered. "We--we have a party."

"I think we should go, Let.i.tia," I interposed, but she did not hear me.

"I can't get over your hair," she murmured, holding Peggy at arm's-length from her and then turning her head a little to look about her. "Do they smoke at your parties?" she asked.

"Oh yes," laughed Peggy, "all the men smoke, you know."

"But I thought," said Let.i.tia, "I saw a woman with a cigarette."

"It may have been a--candy cigarette," Peggy answered.

"That's true," said Let.i.tia, "for I've seen them at Marvin's in Gra.s.sy Ford."

The portieres before which Peggy stood, one hand grasping them, parted suddenly behind her head, and the face of another girl was thrust out rudely behind her own and staring into mine. It was a rouged and powdered face, with hard-set eyes that did not flinch as she gazed mockingly upon me, crying in a voice that filled the hall with its harsh discords:

"Aha! Which one to-night, Suzanne?"

Then she saw Let.i.tia, and with a smothered oath, withdrew laughingly.

The music and talking ceased within. It was not in the room behind the curtains, but seemingly just beyond it, and I could hear her there relating her discovery as I supposed, though the words were indistinct.

"How I hate that girl!" hissed Peggy, her eyes black with anger.

"Then I wouldn't have her, my dear," said Let.i.tia, soothingly. "I should not invite her."

There was a burst of laughter within, followed by subdued voices, and I heard footsteps stealthily approaching. Peggy heard them too, no doubt, though she was answering Let.i.tia's questions, for she grasped the curtains more tightly than before, one hand behind her and the other above her head. As she did so the loose sleeves of her robe slipped down her arm, disclosing a spot upon its whiteness.

"Peggy, dear," Let.i.tia said, anxiously, "you have hurt yourself."

"Yes," was the answer, "I know. It's a bruise."

It was a heart, tattooed. She hid it in her hair.

"We must go, Let.i.tia," I urged. "We must not keep Peggy from her friends."

"Yes," she a.s.sented. "But I had so much to ask you, Peggy, and so much to tell."

The curtains parted again, this time far above Peggy's head, and I saw a man's eyes peering through. She appeared to be disengaging the flounces about her slippered feet, but I saw her strike back savagely with her little heel, and he disappeared. But other faces came, one by one, though Let.i.tia did not see them. Her eyes were all for her darling Peggy whom she plied with questions. How had her health been? How did she like New York? Did she never yearn for little old Gra.s.sy Ford again?

Was she quite happy?

"Yes," Peggy murmured, "quite; quite happy."

She spoke in a hurried, staccato voice, in an odd, cold monotone. There was no kindness in her eyes.

The door-bell rang, and we stepped aside as the maid answered it. Two young men swaggered in, flushed and garrulous, nodding, not more familiarly to the servant than to Peggy herself, who parted the curtains to let them pa.s.s. They gazed curiously at her guests.

"Why, they kept on their hats!" Let.i.tia said, in a shocked undertone.

"Is it customary here, Peggy?"

"Everything," was the bitter answer, "is customary here. How is my mother?"

"It was your mother, Peggy, who asked me to find you." Let.i.tia spoke, gently. "She wants to see you. She is not very strong since your father's--"

She paused.

"Is my father dead?"

"Didn't you know?"

"No; but I thought as much; he was such a boozer."

Let.i.tia stared. "Peggy!" she said.

"Oh, I know what you think," the girl replied, wearily, seating herself upon the stairs, and putting her chin upon her hands. She did not ask us to be seated.

"Let.i.tia," I said, firmly, "come; we must go." I put my hand upon the door-k.n.o.b.

"Doctor," said Peggy Neal, rising again, "you won't mind waiting outside a moment? I have something to say to dear Miss Primrose."

"Certainly," I replied. "Good-bye, Miss--Neal."

She gave her hand to me. "Good-bye, doctor." Then she looked me strangely in the eyes, saying, in an undertone, "Mind, I shall tell her nothing"--and paused significantly, adding in a clearer tone again--"but the truth."

I waited anxiously upon the steps. Five minutes pa.s.sed--ten--twenty--thirty--and I grew impatient. Then the door opened, and Let.i.tia appeared with Peggy, and radiant though in tears.

"Good-bye," she said, kissing her, "dear, _dear_ Peggy. Oh, Bertram, I have heard such a wonderful story!"

"Indeed?"