hoping to find Grace Wolfe still there, but she was disappointed.
The only occupants of the lawn were half a dozen sophomores clustered
together at one end. Blanche Haight was among them, and at sight of
Peggy she turned her back pointedly, and whispered to the others. They
turned with one accord and stared at Peggy, with a cool insolence that
made her blood boil within her and surge up in angry red to her
forehead. She could not do anything about it; they had a right to stare,
if they had no better manners. She returned the look for a moment, then
turned away with a sore and angry heart. Fortunately, at this moment
came out two classmates of her own whom she knew slightly,--mild,
pleasant girls, with no special traits of interest, but still friendly
and approachable. They were going to play tennis, and invited Peggy to
join them; so she had a good half-hour of exercise and pleasure, and
came in with rosy cheeks, and with the cobwebs all blown away for the
time.

At eight o'clock Peggy was standing before her glass, putting a last
touch to her hair, and surveying her image with some anxiety. Did she
"look nice?" Peggy had as little personal vanity as a girl could well
have; but she had learned from her cousin Margaret that it was part of
her duty to look as well as she could. Her cousin Rita would have had
her go further than this.

"Study, my child," Rita would cry, "to be beautiful! Let it be your
dream by night, your thought by day!" And, in all kindness, Rita would
try to teach her how to cross her feet so that they might look slender,
how to extend her little finger when she raised her hand, "not too much,
but to an exact point, _cherie_!" how to turn her head so as to show the
lines of the neck to advantage. But Peggy's own good sense, aided by
Margaret's calm wisdom, had told her the inappropriateness of Rita's
graceful airs and poses to her own sturdy personality. She was to look
nice; more she could not aspire to. So here she was to-night, in a
pretty blue silk waist, with a serge skirt of a darker shade, her hair
smoothly braided in one mammoth "pigtail," and tied with blue ribbons,
her neat collar fastened with a pretty pearl brooch. Thus attired, our
Peggy was truly pleasant to look upon; and her "Is that right,
Margaret?" brought a little satisfied nod of reply from the smiling
image in the glass.

Drawing near the Owl's Nest, she heard a hum of voices, and straightway
her heart sank again, and shyness p