CHAPTER XVMAN PROPOSES
Peggywent to her room that night very cross and very sleepy. The Patterson dinner had been a very long and, to her, a very tedious affair of many courses and numerous pauses.
“I never before worked so hard to make conversation,” she confided to her grandmother in the privacy of her pretty bedroom. No matter how late Peggy stayed out, she always found her grandmother awake and waiting for her when she returned.
When no social engagements took her from home, Mrs. Macallister, who required very little sleep, always retired to her own sitting room about ten o’clock. She dressed in a warm wrapper and made herself comfortable by her reading lamp and perused magazines and the latest novels at her leisure.
“You see, Granny, it was a mixed affair,” explained Peggy, sitting on the edge of her bed while she took down and shook out her lovely “lint white locks,” as Dick called them. “And one man gave out at the last moment, so I sat between old Mr. Forsythe and Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Good Heavens! what a combination! Were you the only young person present?”
“No; Sybil Ferguson and Tony Forsythe were across the way from me, and Captain McLane sat by Mary Patterson. Mrs. Patterson invited Ned Morgan for me, but, as I said before, he could not come as he is ill in bed with grippe.”
“Did you play auction afterwards?”
“Yes. I had miserable luck; everything went against me,” Peggy sighed with vexation. “I even drew Mrs. Wheeler as my first partner. Have you ever played with her?”
“Once!” Mrs. Macallister’s tone spoke volumes. “Was Ruth Wheeler there, also?”
“No, she went to a débutante dinner given by the Wilsons. Oh, Granny, I must tell yousomething so funny. During dinner, Mr. Forsythe leaned across me and asked Mrs. Wheeler if Ruth enjoyed being out.
“‘She does indeed,’ answered Mrs. Wheeler, with a beaming smile, ‘and she has been a great success since her début last December. Why, Mr. Forsythe, she has already had two proposals and one hint.’”
“That is just like Maria Wheeler,” laughed Mrs. Macallister.
“What did you do this evening, Granny? You read a blood-curdling mystery story as usual, I suppose.”
“Indeed, I did nothing of the sort. I was most agreeably entertained by a young man.”
“General de Peyster?”
“I said a young man,” with dignity.
“I give it up, Granny; you have too many of the male gender anxious to call on you. It would take me an hour to go through the list.”
“Tut! child, I am not to be flattered,” but she smiled quietly, well pleased. She had queened it too long in salon and drawing-roomnot to know her power. “My visitor this evening was Count de Morny.”
“Count de Morny! Why, good gracious, Granny, he was here only this afternoon.”
“I know it,” placidly.
“Why did he come a second time?”
“He came to ask my permission to pay his addresses to you.”
Peggy dropped her slipper with a thud on the floor, while the rich, warm blood mounted to her cheeks.
“And you told him?”
“That he could—yes.”
The clock ticked loudly in the quiet room. Mrs. Macallister was the first to break the silence.
“Peggy, look at me.”
Slowly the deep blue eyes were raised to hers, but the dearly loved face was blurred by the tears that filled them.
“Granny, Granny, I cannot leave you. Why need we speak of marriage, we are so happy, we two?”
“Nonsense, child,” Mrs. Macallister’s tonewas husky, and she cleared her throat of a suspicious lump. “Do you think I want you to be a lonely old maid? No, dear heart, I wish you to marry a man worthy of you. I want to see you rich in domestic happiness, so that when you reach my age and look back over the past, you can say, as I do: ‘My life has been one grand Thanksgiving Hymn.’”
It was not often that the stately dame showed emotion, and Peggy was deeply touched. She dropped down on her knees and pressed her cheek against her grandmother’s as the loving arms met around her.
“Hush, dearie, do not cry.” Mrs. Macallister rocked her back and forth as she had been wont to do in her babyhood. “You do not have to accept Count de Morny if you do not care for him. I did not think it fair to either of you to forbid his proposal. He says he loves you devotedly, and he offers you a most distinguished name, and a splendid social position in the Old World. I know nothing against him, and I like him personally. But, Peggy, I warn you, de Morny is not a man totrifle with. He has a high temper under that debonair manner. Come, it is late; go to bed, dear, and do not worry any more. Remember, I shall not force you into any marriage. The decision must rest with you. Now, hurry and undress,” kissing her warmly. “I will come back and tuck you up in bed.”
Left alone, Peggy went thoughtfully over to her bureau. She took up a photograph in its silver frame and studied it long; the Court dress was becoming to de Morny. Then her left hand strayed toward a kodak picture, a snap shot, and she gazed down into a gay, laughing face, but the lips, which curved in a merry smile, were well shaped, and the chin determined. A strong face, and a lovable one; and the other—Peggy sighed as she put them back in their places.
Glancing at the clock she was shocked to find it long after midnight. Hastily picking up her jewelry, she pressed the spring of her secret drawer. It opened half-way, then stuck. Slipping her hand inside the small opening, she felt about to find the obstruction. A box was jammedagainst the top, and with impatient fingers she pulled it out breaking the side of the pasteboard in her effort to get it free. Its contents fell into the now fully opened drawer. She picked it up and examined it; then let it fall as if it scorched her fingers. It was the broken top of a hat-pin which she had given Beatrice Trevor that Christmas. She recognized it instantly because of the curious design in gold surrounding the cat’s-eye. She picked up the box. It was the identical one which Beatrice had entrusted to her care. The twine around the middle still held; only one end had been broken.
Merciful Heaven! what had she discovered? No, it could not be possible—her gentle, charming friend could not be guilty. It was too monstrous for belief. And yet, Beatrice’s intense desire to get the box out of the house, her quarrel with her stepmother—the doctor’s testimony that Mrs. Trevor had been killed by a stab from a hat-pin—all pointed to her guilt.
With trembling fingers the bewildered andover-wrought girl thrust the telltale cat’s-eye back into the box, put it securely in the drawer, dropped in her jewelry and snapped the lock. Then, for the first time in her healthy, happy life, Peggy fainted just as Mrs. Macallister re-entered the room.