Peggy Gray was in despair over Monty’s attitude.  She had become convinced that behind his pride he was cherishing a secret longing for Barbara.  Yet she could not see how the walls were to be broken down if he maintained this icy reserve.  She was sure that the masterful tone was the one to win with a girl like that, but evidently Monty would not accept advice.  That he was mistaken about Barbara’s feeling she did not doubt for a moment, and she saw things going hopelessly wrong for want of a word.  There were times when she let herself dream of possibilities, but they always ended by seeming too impossible.  She cared too much to make the attainment of her vision seem simple.  She cared too much to be sure of anything.

At moments she fancied that she might say a word to Miss Drew which would straighten things out.  But there was something about her which held her off.  Even now that they were thrown together more or less she could not get beyond a certain barrier.  It was not until a sunny day when she had accepted Barbara’s invitation to drive that things seemed to go more easily.  For the first time she felt the charm of the girl, and for the first time Barbara seemed unreservedly friendly.  It was a quiet drive they were taking through the woods and out along the beach, and somehow in the open air things simplified themselves.  Finally, in the softness and the idle warmth, even an allusion to Monty, whose name usually meant an embarrassing change of subject, began to seem possible.  It was inevitable that Peggy should bring it in; for with her a question of tact was never allowed to dominate when things of moment were at stake.  She cowered before the plunge, but she took it unafraid.

“The doctor says Monty may go out driving to-morrow,” she began.  “Isn’t that fine?”

Barbara’s only response was to touch her pony a little too sharply with the whip.  Peggy went on as if unconscious of the challenge.

“He has been bored to death, poor fellow, in the house all this time, and—­”

“Miss Gray, please do not mention Mr. Brewster’s name to me again,” interrupted Barbara, with a contraction of the eyebrows.  But Peggy was seized with a spirit of defiance and plunged recklessly on.

“What is the use, Miss Drew, of taking an attitude like that?  I know the situation pretty well, and I can’t believe that either Monty or you has lost in a week a feeling that was so deep-seated.  I know Monty much too well to think that he would change so easily.”  Peggy still lived largely in her ideals.  “And you are too fine a thing not to have suffered under this misunderstanding.  It seems as if a very small word would set you both straight.”

Barbara drew herself up and kept her eyes on the road which lay white and gleaming in the sun.  “I have not the least desire to be set straight.”  And she was never more serious.

“But it was only a few weeks ago that you were engaged.”