refined,
pale face and graceful gestures, in the funny instinctive British way
tried to place her socially. Was she a lady? It made such a
difference. This was the girl for whom Doggie had performed his deed
of knight-errantry; the girl whom she proposed to take back to Doggie.
For the moment, discounting the uniform which might have hidden a
midinette or a duchess, she had nothing but the face and the gestures
and the beautifully modulated voice to go upon, and between the accent
of the midinette and the duchess--both being equally charming to her
English ear--Peggy could not discriminate. She had, however,
beautiful, capable hands, and took care of her finger-nails.

Jeanne broke the tiny spell of embarrassed silence.

"I am at your disposal, madame."

Peggy plunged at once into facts.

"It may seem strange, my coming to you; but the fact is that my
cousin, Monsieur Trevor, is severely wounded...."

"_Mon Dieu!_" said Jeanne.

"And his friend, Mr. McPhail, who is also wounded, thinks that if
you--well----"

Her French failed her--to carry off a very delicate situation one must
have command of language--she could only blurt out--"_Il faut
comprendre, mademoiselle. Il a fait beaucoup pour vous._"

She met Jeanne's dark eyes. Jeanne said:

"_Oui, madame, vous avez raison. Il a beaucoup fait pour moi._"

Peggy flushed at the unconscious correction--"_beaucoup fait_" for
"_fait beaucoup_."

"He has done not only much, but everything for me, madame," Jeanne
continued. "And you who have come from England expressly to tell me
that he is wounded, what do you wish me to do?"

"Accompany me back to London. I had a telegram this morning to say
that he had arrived at a hospital there."

"Then you have not seen him?"

"Not yet."

"Then how, madame, do you know that he desires my presence?"

Peggy glanced at the girl's hands clasped on her lap, and saw that the
knuckles were white.

"I am sure of it."

"He would have written, madame. I only received one letter from him,
and that was while I still lived at Frelus."

"He wrote many letters and telegraphed to Frelus, and received no
answers."

"Madame," cried Jeanne, "I implore you to believe what I say: but not
one of those letters have ever reached me."

"Not one?"

At first Peggy was incredulous. Phineas McPhail had told her of
Doggie's despair at the lack of response from Frelus; and, after all,
Frelus had a properly constituted post office in workin