“Is it worth much money?” asked Peg. “Nothing at all,” I returned. “And yet you value it highly?” “Very highly.” “May I have it?” It seemed shame to hesitate, and yet I did, while Peg stood with wistful face. “Why,” said I at last, “I meant it for the one I should love.” “Oh, you meant it for her whom you would love! And do you look to see it again after that? The coral is mine from this moment.” With a swish of her skirts Peg was gone; and with her went the coral. Peg betimes would lay out her campaign for the coming winter. It was then she talked of Van Buren, “the good little secretary,” as Peg named him. Van Buren went often to the Eatons; and on each of those kind excursions he climbed ever higher with the General and with me. “Not only,” said Peg, assuming a wise pucker of the brow as she recounted how she should wage and win her social war, “not only shall I preside for our good little secretary at dinners and receptions, but he has brought to me the Viscount Vaughn, who is minister for the English, and Baron Krudener, who is here, as you know, for the Russians; and they, since they own no wives to help them, also have besought me to be at the head of their legation functions. And with the White House back of all, what then will Mrs. Calhoun and her followers do! Watch-dog we have them routed!” Here Peg's rich laugh would ring out for victory on its way. Peg, on another day, would shake her head with soft solemnity. “I do so wish some one watched over me.” Peg spoke in contemplative earnestness. “If I could find a fault in a best of husbands, it must be that he doesn't watch over me.” “What idleness now claims your tongue?” said I, impatiently. “Was ever such nonsense uttered! And the wives should all turn ospreys, too, I take it, and haunt the upper air to watch their husbands?” “No,” returned Peg, demurely reading the carpet, “no; a wife should never watch her husband. What should you think of her who, dwelling in a garden--a measureless garden of roses--went ever about with petticoats tucked up, stick in hand, questing for some serpent? Who is she, to be so daft as to refuse the fragrance of a thousand blossoms to find one serpent and be stung by it?” Peg crowed high and long, deeming herself a princess of chop-logic. “But a man should watch a woman,” she concluded; “the woman wants him to.” “And why?” said I, becoming curious. “Because she likes to feel herself tethered by his vigilance.” “But why?” I insisted. “Is not freedom dear to a woman?” “Yes, but love is more dear. See what she gains when she barters only a little freedom for a world of love.” “I had not thought a woman set such store by jealousy--the green eye turned against herself.” “Jealousy--a man's jealousy is but the counterpart of his love.” Peg lifted her clever head oracularly. “And, watch-dog, that reminds me”--here she admonished me with upraised finger--“you are jealous of me! Yes you are; you are jealous of my husband.”