“But if poor Peggy herself—­”

“Peggy probably doesn’t read the newspapers any more than you do.  But we needn’t waste time in thinking what if this or that; the clear duty for us is to take no notice, and, as I said, be good to them.”

“Oh, grandmother, you are such a dear!  I knew you’d feel like this.”

There was to be an early little dance that night for the young people, and Tilly put on her prettiest gown,—­a white mull with rose-colored ribbons,—­and went down to dinner in it, for the dance was an informal affair that was to follow very soon after dinner on account of the youth of most of the dancers.  Her heart beat more quickly as she looked across at the corner table and saw Peggy and her aunt in their places, and that Peggy was also dressed for the occasion in something white, embroidered with rosebuds, and with ribbon loops of pale blue and a broad sash of the same color.

“Of course, she expects to dance,” thought Tilly, “and Agnes will be horrid to her about it in some way or other; but I shall stand by Peggy anyway, whatever anybody else may do.”

It was with this kind intention that Tilly hurried through her dinner and hastened out to join Peggy and her aunt when they left the dining-room.  But the kind intention was arrested for the moment by Dora’s voice calling out,—­

“Tilly, Tilly, wait a minute.”

The next thing Dora had her hand over Tilly’s arm.  Amy and Agnes were just behind, and there was nothing to do but to follow the general movement with them to the piazza.  That it was a planned movement to separate her from Peggy, Tilly did not doubt; for once out on the piazza, Agnes, with a whispered word to Amy, turned sharply about in the opposite direction to that where Mrs. Smith and her niece were sitting.

A color like a red rose sprang to Tilly’s cheeks as she glanced across at Peggy, and bowed to her with a swift little smile.  Then, “How pretty Peggy Smith looks!” and “What a lovely gown she has on!” she said, turning a brave and half-defiant glance upon Agnes.

“Yes, it is pretty.  It’s made of that South American embroidered muslin,—­convent work, you know,” answered Agnes, casting a fleeting look at Tilly.

“No, I didn’t know,” answered Tilly, trying to seem calm and indifferent, but failing miserably.

“Yes,” went on Agnes, “I know, because my cousins have had several of those dresses, and I’m quite familiar with them.”

Peggy, sitting there in her odd pretty dress, saw with pity the distress in her friend Tilly’s face.

“Those girls are worrying poor Tilly, auntie, see,—­and I dare say it’s on my account, for I was sure when she came out that she was intending to join us, and that they prevented her,—­and, auntie, I’m going to brave the lions in their dens, and going over to her.”

“They are ill-bred girls, and they may do or say something rude,” replied auntie, regarding Peggy with a slightly anxious expression.