The swinging sashes were pushed outward, and
Peggy's white gown hung down from the broad sill.
"Is that you, Peggy?" said Angelique. "I thought you were dancing at
Vigo's this evening."
"I thought you were, too."
"Mama felt obliged to send our excuses, on account of going to sister's
baby."
"How beautiful these large French families are!" observed Peggy; "some
of them are always dying or teething, and the girls are slaves to their
elders."
"We must be beautiful," said Angelique, "since two of the Morrisons have
picked wives from us; and I assure you the Morrison babies give us the
most trouble."
"You might expect that. I never saw any luck go with a red-headed
Morrison."
Angelique sat down on the sill, also, leaning against the side of the
window. The garden was becoming a void of dimness, through which a few
fireflies sowed themselves. Vapor blotted such stars as they might have
seen from their perch, and the foliage of fruit trees stirred with a
whisper of wind.
"I am so glad you came to stay with me, Peggy.
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