MAN PROPOSES
PEGGY went 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 you something 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-room not 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 tone was 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 to trifle
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 jammed
against 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 and over-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.