“‘Peggy Saville requests the pleasure of Jane Smith's company to a magenta supper.’--‘Peggy Saville requests the pleasure of Mr. Jones's company to a purple tea.’ It's a splendid idea! I like it immensely,” said Peggy, pursing her lips, and staring in the fire in meditative fashion. “Pink--pink--what can we eat that is pink? P-prawns, p-pickles, p-p-pomegranates, P-aysandu tongues (you would call those pink, wouldn't you--pinky red?). Humph! I don't think it sounds very nice. Perhaps they dye the things with cochineal. I think I shall have a sensible brown and green meal before I go, and then I can nibble elegantly at the pinkies. Would it be considered a delicate mark of attention if I wore a pink frock?” “Certainly it would. Wear that nice one that you put on in the evenings. Rosalind will be in pink from head to foot, you may depend on it,” said Robert confidently, whereupon Mellicent rushed headlong from the room to find her mother, and plead eagerly that summer crepon dresses of the desired tint should be brought forth from their hiding-place and freshened up for the occasion. To accede to this request meant an extra call upon time already fully occupied, but mothers have a way of not grudging trouble where their children are concerned. Mrs. Asplin said, “Yes, darling, of course I will!” and set to work with such good will that all three girls sported pink dresses beneath their ulsters when they set off to partake of the mysterious luncheon a few days later. Rosalind came to the bedroom to receive them, and looked on from an armchair, while Lady Darcy's maid helped the visitors to take off their wraps. She herself looked like a rose in her dainty pink draperies, and Peggy had an impression that she was not altogether pleased to see that her guests were as appropriately dressed as herself. She eyed them up and down, and made remarks to the maid in that fluent French of hers which was so unintelligible to the schoolgirls' ears. The maid smirked and pursed up her lips, and then meeting Peggy's steady gaze, dropped her eyes in confusion. Peggy knew, as well as if she had understood every word, that the remarks exchanged between mistress and maid had been of a depreciatory nature, not as concerned her own attire--that was as perfect in its way as Rosalind's own--but with reference to the home-made dresses of the Vicar's daughters, which seemed to have suddenly become clumsy and shapeless when viewed in the mirrors of this elegant bedroom. She was in arms at once on her friends' behalf, and when Peggy's dignity was hurt she was a formidable person to tackle. In this instance she fixed her eyes first on the maid, and then on Rosalind herself with a steady, disapproving stare which was not a little disconcerting. “I am sorry,” she said, “but we really don't know French well enough to follow your conversation! You were talking about us, I think. Perhaps you would be kind enough to repeat your remarks in English?”