“Some of our Society are not so strict anent such matters as they might be,” Peggy told them, a smile coming to her lips as she recalled the numerous rebukes concerning gay apparel given by the elders at the meetings. “’Tis only of late that I have dressed so quietly.” “Now, my dear,” spoke Mrs. Washington, setting a dainty lace cap on the maiden’s dark hair, “look in the mirror, and see if the result doth not please you.” “It pleases me well,” answered Peggy surveying her reflection with a smile. “In truth it hath been long since I have been arrayed so gayly. Mother doth not approve of much dressing while the war lasts.” “Your mother is right,” concurred the lady with warmth. “Mrs. Washington feels just the same about the matter. Still, I doubt if your mother would remain of that opinion were she to see you now. Would that she could, or that a limner[[6]] were here to depict your likeness.” In truth the girl made a charming picture in the dainty frock of dove-colored Persian flowered with roses of cherry hue, and finished with a frill of soft lace from which her white throat rose fair and girlish. A pair of high-heeled red slippers completed the costume, and Peggy would have been more than human if her eyes had not brightened, and her cheeks flushed at her image in the mirror. Mrs. Washington led them at once to the great dining-room, where they found Mr. Washington, and young Fairfax Johnson who had arrived a short time after them. The storm had ceased, but the clouds still hung dark and lowering, producing an early twilight. A house servant was just lighting the myrtle-berry candles in the lusters as they entered the room, and the light glinted from the floor, scoured to a shining whiteness. The blacks brought in the supper immediately, and the little party gathered about the table informally. Peggy found herself seated beside Fairfax Johnson. A spirit of mischief seized her, and made her sit silent, waiting for him to speak. “For,” she thought roguishly, “’twill never do in the world to have naught to record for the girls but those two remarks, ‘It looks like rain,’ and ‘It is raining.’ If I do not speak he must, or else be guilty of discourtesy.” Her patience was soon rewarded. The youth struggled bravely with his bashfulness, and presently turned to her. “It hath stopped raining,” he said. Peggy’s dimples came suddenly, and her eyes twinkled, but she answered demurely: “It hath, Friend Fairfax, for which I am glad. It was a severe storm. Did thee get very wet?” “Yes,” he answered. “It rained hard.” “Oh, dear!” thought the girl. “Will he never have anything to say except about that rain? I wonder what Betty would do? Such a nice lad should be broken of his shyness.” Then aloud: “And Star, friend? Is she all right?” “Yes. Didn’t seem to mind it a bit, after the first scare. Did you get wet?”