It was just then that a voice called softly from the open window behind her, “Miss Tilly, Miss Tilly!” and there was Will beckoning to her.  “What shall I do with that paper?” he whispered, as Tilly turned.  “I expect Agnes to be after me for it as quick as she catches sight of me again.”

The window was a long French window, and Tilly stepped out and joined him upon the piazza.  “Come around here where nobody can see or overhear us,” she said.  He followed her down the steps to a sheltered rustic seat.

“You haven’t read it?” she asked.

“Read it?  No!” Will answered a little huffily.  “You asked me not to until I had seen you.”

Tilly colored, and then, “You are a gentleman!” she burst out vehemently.

“Well, I hope so,” Will answered.

“And so is Tom Raymond.  I had done him such an injustice; but he’s turned out so different from what I supposed he was.  Oh, he’s just splendid! and if you—­” But here—­I’m half ashamed to record it of my plucky little Tilly—­here, suddenly overcome by all the excitement she had been through, Tilly broke down and began to cry.

“Oh, don’t!  I wish you wouldn’t, now!  Oh, I say!” cried Will, in boyish embarrassment.

Poor Tilly checked her sobs by a vigorous effort; but tears continued to flow, and she fumbled vainly for her handkerchief to dry them.

“Here, here, take mine,” said Will, hastily thrusting the cambric into her hand; “and don’t you bother another bit about Agnes and her tantrums.  I’ll burn her old paper if you say so, and I won’t read it at all.”

“Oh, yes, yes, you’ll have to read it now.  She’ll ask you,—­she’ll tell you.  Yes, read it, read it, Will.  I know you’ll pity Peggy, as grandmother and I do.”

Thus adjured, Will drew the bit of paper from his pocket.

Tilly forgot her tears as she watched Will’s face.  He read it twice.  At first there was an entire lack of comprehension; at the second reading a look of shocked understanding, and, bringing his fist down upon his knee, he exclaimed,—­

“And Agnes was going to fling this bombshell straight at that poor thing!”

Then Tilly knew that Will was on the right side; that he pitied Peggy, and that he would agree with all that grandmother had said about her and her innocence and ignorance of real facts.  This estimate of Master Will’s sympathy was not a mistaken one.  He not only agreed with grandmother about Peggy’s innocence and ignorance, but in grandmother’s kind conclusion “that they must be good to her.”

“But what did you mean about Tom?  What has he done to make you think so much better of him?” Will asked curiously.

While Tilly was enlightening him upon this point, Tom’s voice was heard saying, “Oh, here they are,” and Tom himself came round the clump of sheltering bushes accompanied by Peggy.  And “We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” said Peggy.  “We’ve just had another of the Strauss waltzes, and the next thing is the ‘Lancers;’ and we want you and Tilly—­”