"I make haste fer ter inquire, baby," answered the old nurse, hurrying
from the room.

"I trus' she is," was Jerome's comment, adding: "Sis Cynthia done make
de sallylun jist ter de perfection pint, an' she know dat pint too."

Peggy made no comment upon the implied reproach of her guest's
tardiness, but crossing the room to a big chair, whither Tzaritza had
already preceded her to rub noses with a magnificent white Persian cat,
she stooped to stroke Sultana, who graciously condescended to purr and
nestle her beautiful head against Peggy's hand. Sultana had only been a
member of the Severndale household since July, Mr. Harold having sent
her to Peggy as "a semi-annual birthday gift," he said. She had adapted
herself to her new surroundings with unusual promptitude and been
adopted by the other four-footed members of the estate as "a friend and
equal." The trio formed a picturesque group as they stood there.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed young girl of fifteen, with her rich, clear
coloring, her cheeks softly tinted from her brisk walk in the morning
sunshine was very lovely. She wore a white duck skirt, a soft nainsook
blouse open at the throat, the sailor collar knotted with a red silk
scarf. Her heavy braids were coiled about her shapely head and held in
place with large shell pins, soft little locks curling about her
forehead.

The past year had wrought wonderful changes in Peggy Stewart. The little
girl had vanished forever, giving place to the charming young girl
nearing her sixteenth milestone. The contact with the outer world which
the past three months had given, when she had made so many new friends
and seen so much of the service and social world, had done a great deal
towards developing her. Always exceptionally well poised and sure of
herself, the summer at Navy Bungalow in New London, at Newport, Boston,
and at other points at which the summer practice Squadron had touched,
had broadened her outlook, and helped her gauge things from a different
and wider viewpoint than Severndale or Annapolis afforded. Though
entirely unaware of the fact, Peggy had few rivals in the world of young
girls.

Presently a step sounded upon the polished floor of the broad hall and
Mrs. Peyton Stewart, Peggy's aunt by marriage, stood in the doorway.
Under one arm she carried her French poodle. Stooping she placed it upon
the floor with the care which suggested a degree of fragility entirely
belied by the bad-tempered little