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“I’ve cast my everlastin’ soul into the balance,” poor Peggy accused herself, “an’ I don’t care a whit!”

All this while Dickie Blue had occupied himself with more reasonable reflection than he was accustomed to entertain. Doubt alarmed him. Betrothed, was she? Well, she might be betrothed an she wanted to! Who cared? Still an’ all–well, she was young t’ be wed, wasn’t she? An’ she had no discretion in choice. Poor wee thing, she had given herself t’ some wastrel, no doubt! Charlie Rush! Ecod! Huh! ‘Twas a poor match for a dear maid like she t’ make. An’ Dickie Blue would miss her sadly when she was wed away from his care an’ affection. Affection? Ay; he was wonderful fond o’ the pallid wee thing. ‘Twas a pity she had no color–no blushes t’ match an’ assist the roguish loveliness o’ the big eyes that was forever near trappin’ the heart of a man. Dang it, she was fair anyhow! What was rosy cheeks, after all. They faded like roses. Ah, she was a wonderful dear wee thing! ‘Twas a melancholy pity that she was t’ be wed so young. Not yet seventeen! Mm-m–’twas far too young. Dang it, Charlie Rush would be home afore long with the means in his pocket for a weddin’! Dang it, they’d be wed when he come! An’ then pretty Peggy Lacey would no longer be—-

When Peggy Lacey tripped into the kitchen, Dickie Blue was melancholy with the fear that she was more dear than he had known.

“Peggy!” he gasped.

Then he succumbed utterly. She was radiant. Roses? They bloomed in her round cheeks! Dear Lord, what full-blown flowers they were! Dickie Blue went daft with love of Peggy Lacey. No caution now! A flame of love and devotion! Splendor clothed the boy.

“What ails you?” said Peggy defiantly. “You is starin’ at me most rudely.”

Dickie Blue’s mounting love thrilled and troubled him with a protective concern.

“You isn’t ill, is you?” he demanded.

“Ill!” she scoffed. “I never felt better in all my life. An’ why d’ye ask me that?”

“You’re flushed.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied demurely, “that you’ve a distaste for the color in my cheeks. I wish I might be able t’ rub it off t’ suit ye.”

He smiled.

“I never seed ye so rosy afore,” said he. “You’re jus’ bloomin’ like a flower, Peggy.”

“Ah, well,” the mendacious little creature replied, with an indifferent shrug of her soft shoulders, “mostly I’m not rosy at all, but there’s days when I is. I’m sorry you’re offended by rosy cheeks like mine. I’ll try not t’ have it happen again when you’re about.”

“I’m not offended, Peggy.”

There was that in Dickie Blue’s voice to make Peggy Lacey’s heart flutter.

“No?” says she.

“Far from it.”

“I–I’m s’prised!”

“You–you is jus’ beautiful the night, Peggy!”

“The night?”

“An’ always was an’ always will be!”

“I can’t believe ye think it.”

Dickie Blue went close to Peggy then. “Peggy,” said he, “was there a ring in the wee box I fetched you the night?”

“No, sir.”

“Is you betrothed, Peggy?”

Peggy dropped her head to hide the tears. She was more afraid than ever. Yet she must listen, she knew, and reply with courage and truth.

“I–I’m not,” she faltered.

“God be thanked!” said Dickie Blue. “Ah, Peggy, Peggy,” he whispered, “I loves you!”

“You mustn’t say it, Dickie!”

“I can’t help myself.”

All at once Peggy Lacey’s conscience submerged her spirit in a flood of reproaches. There was no maid more false in all the world, she knew, than her own wicked self.

“Dickie,” she began, “I–I—-“

“Has you no word o’ love for me, Peggy? I–I jus’ crave it, Peggy, with all my heart. Yes, I do!”

“Stay jus’ where you is!” Peggy sobbed. “Don’t you budge a inch, Dickie! I’ll be back in a minute.”

With that she fled. She vanished, indeed, in full flight, into that chamber whence she had issued radiantly rosy a few moments before, once more abandoning Dickie Blue to an interval of salutary reflection. To intrude in pursuit, of course–for the whole troop of us to intrude, curious and gaping, upon those swift measures which Peggy Lacey was impetuously executing in relief of the shafts of her accusing conscience–would be a breach of manners too gross even to contemplate; but something may be inferred from a significant confusion of sounds which the closed door failed altogether to conceal. There was clink of pitcher and basin; there was a great splash of water, as of water being poured with no caution to confine it to the receptacle provided to receive it; there was the thump of a pitcher on the floor; and there was more splashing, then a violent agitation, and the trickle and drip of water, and a second and a third violent agitation of the liquid contents of what appeared to be a porcelain bowl–the whole indicating that the occupant of the chamber was washing her face in haste with a contrite determination to make a thorough success of the ablution. And there was silence, broken by gasps and stifled sobs–doubtless a vigorous rubbing was in course; and then the door was flung open from within, and Peggy Lacey dashed resolutely in the direction of the kitchen.