Her dark hair, which had an elusive bluish mist, like grapes, was pinned
high with a gold comb. Her oval face was full of a mature sympathy
unusual in girls. Maria had thought at first she would rather be alone
on the gallery, but this reposeful and tender French girl at once became
a necessity to her.
"Peggy," said Angelique, "I hear Jules Vigo inquiring for you in the
hall."
"Then I shall take to the roof," responded Peggy.
"Have some regard for Jules."
"You may have, but I shan't. I will not dance with a kangaroo."
"Do you not promise dances ahead?" inquired Maria.
"No, our mothers do not permit that," answered Angelique. "It is
sometimes best to sit still and look on."
"That means, Miss Jones," explained Peggy, "that she has set a fashion
to give the rest of the girls a chance. I wouldn't be so mealy-mouthed
about cutting them out. But Angelique has been ruined by waiting so much
on her tante-gra'mere. When you bear an old woman's temper from dawn
till dusk, you soon forget you're a girl in your teens.
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