Peggy forebore to explain that the rapidity with which the delicacy in question had been put out of sight was the ground of her uneasiness. "What is your name?" she inquired. "Jimmy Dunn." The gray eyes met her own squarely and she was confirmed in her opinion that they were honest eyes. "Well, Jimmy, it wasn’t right for you to take our ice cream, but it was very--" Peggy searched for a word in the boy’s vocabulary--"It was very white of you to bring it back. I like you and I hope I’ll see you again. Good night." The door swung ajar and the queer, ungainly little figure slipped through the opening. Then it turned. "Same to you," said the hoarse voice, and Peggy heard the big shoes clatter on the walk, as the wearer raced to the gate. And though that was the most successful Bazar the girls of the Terrace had ever held, and the spirit of self-congratulation ran high, perhaps the pleasantest memory that Peggy carried home with her was that exchange of compliments on the back doorsteps. *CHAPTER VIII* *AT HOME WITH THE DUNNS* "I can’t," said Peggy. "I’ve got to make a call after school." Priscilla, who had suggested a trip to the public library, to look up some of the history references for the next day, glanced at her friend askance. "O," she said in a voice of deep meaning, "I can’t imagine what you see in that Elaine Marshall." "Can’t you?" Peggy’s tone was cheery. "O, she’s well enough. But to choose her for an intimate friend! You’re the only one of us who really likes her, you know." "It’s lucky I like her so much, then," suggested Peggy, still reprehensibly cheerful. "O, yes, it’s lucky for her. Nobody would deny that. But as far as you’re concerned, Peggy, I don’t know. Of course the more intimate you get with her, the less you see-- Now, Peggy Raymond, I’d like to know what you’re laughing at." Peggy’s pent-up chuckle had broken in on the conversation with rather startling effect. As a tease, Peggy was not an unqualified success, since she never had the heart to carry her teasing to the climax. "I was only laughing at your dragging Elaine into it," she explained blithely. "I’m not going to see her. I’m going to call on the Dunns." Priscilla wavered between offence and curiosity. Peggy tipped the balance by giving her friend’s arm a good-natured squeeze. "The Dunns," repeated Priscilla hastily, as if glad to get away from the previous topic of conversation. "Where do they live?" "Glen Echo Avenue." "Pretty name, but I don’t know it." "It’s over across the tracks, just beyond." "Why, Peggy Raymond, I didn’t suppose anybody lived over there." "Lots of people do. Scads of ’em." "I didn’t mean that, Peggy. Of course, I meant the kind of people one goes to see. "I never went to see these people before," Peggy admitted. "But I’ve wanted to ever since the night of the Bazar. That boy, you know--" "O, the ice cream boy! Was he a Dunn?"