“They really seem to be fond of each other.  Perhaps there may be an engagement to write you about, Peggy.”

I thought to myself that mother didn’t know that Dr. Denbigh was prejudiced to being engaged, but I didn’t say anything—­it’s wise not to say anything to your family beyond the necessary jargon of living.  Peggy seemed to think the same, for she didn’t answer a syllabus, but after dropping her glass of water into the fried potatoes which Lena was kindly handing to her, she jumped and scooted.  A few minutes later I wanted her to sew a sail on a boat, so I tried her door and it was locked, and then I knocked and she took an awfully long time simply to open that door, and when she did her eyes were red and she was shivering as if she was cold.

“Oh, Billy, Billy!” she said, and then, of all things, she grabbed me and kissed me.

I wriggled loose, and I said:  “Sew up this sail for me, will you?  Hustle!”

But she didn’t pay attention.  “Oh, Billy, be a little good to me!” she said.  “I’m so wretched, and nobody knows but you.  Oh, Billy—­he likes somebody better than me!”

“Who does?” I asked.  “Father?”

She half laughed, a sort of sickly laugh.  “No, Billy.  Not father—­he—­Jack—­Dr. Denbigh.  Oh, you know.  Billy!  You heard what mother said.”

“O—­o—­oh!” I answered her, in a contemplating slowness.  “Oh—­that’s so!  Do you mind if he gets engaged to Aunt Elizabeth?”

“Do—­I—­mind?” said Peggy, as if she was astonished.  “Mind?  Billy, I’ll love him till I die.  It would break my heart.”

“Oh no, it wouldn’t,” I told her, because I thought I’d sort of comfort her.  “That’s truck.  You can’t break muscles just by loving.  But I know how you feel, because that’s the way I felt when father gave that Irish setter to the Tracys.”

She went on chattering her teeth as if she was cold, so I put the table-cover around her.  “You dear Billy,” she said.  But that was stuff.

“I wouldn’t bother,” I said.  “Likely he’s forgotten about you.  I often forget things myself.”  That didn’t seem to comfort her, for she began to sob out loud.  “Oh, now.  Peg, don’t cry,” I observed to her.  “He probably likes Aunt Elizabeth better than you, don’t you see?  I think she’s prettier, myself.  And, of course, she’s a lot cleverer.  She tells funny stories and makes people laugh; you never do that—­You’re a good sort, but quiet and not much fun, don’t you see?  Maybe he got plain tired of you.”

But instead of being cheered up by my explaining things, she put her head on the table and just yowled.  Girls are a queer species.