send to."

"We could send for you," said Peggy, turning to Tilly. Tilly looked
startled.

"Have you friends out there?" asked Agnes, with an impertinent stare at
Peggy.

"Yes," answered Peggy, curtly, meeting Agnes's stare with a look of
sudden haughtiness.

Tilly turned hot and cold, but through all her perturbation was one
feeling of satisfaction. Peggy could stand her ground, it seemed, and
resent impertinence; but, "Oh, dear!" said this poor Tilly to herself,
"that South American gown, I suppose, proves that she must be that
Smithson man's daughter; but grandmother was right,--she is innocent of
the facts of the case, of that there can be no doubt,--and we must be
good to her, and now is the time to begin,--this very minute, when Agnes
is planning what hateful thing she can do next."

Fired by this thought, Tilly sprang to her feet, and, casting a glance
of scorn and contempt at Agnes, slipped her hand over Peggy's arm and
said,--

"Come, Peggy, let's go over to the other end of the piazza and walk up
and down; it's much pleasanter there."

Warm-hearted Tilly's intentions were excellent; but her look of
contempt, her meaning words, instead of cowing and controlling Agnes,
only roused her to deeper anger, which resulted in an action that
probably had not been premeditated even by her jealous and bitter
spirit. Tilly will never forget that action. It was just as she was
turning away with Peggy, when she saw that angry face barring her way,
when she heard those ominous words, "Miss Smithson," and then--and then
that outstretched hand thrusting forth to Peggy that fluttering,
dreadful slip of paper!

CHAPTER V.

But another hand than Peggy's snatched at the fluttering paper. "What is
it, what does it mean?" demanded Peggy, as a gusty breeze tore the paper
from Tilly's trembling fingers.

"Yes, and what do you mean, Miss Tilly Morris, by snatching what doesn't
belong to you?" cried Agnes, shrilly, as she started off to capture the
flying paper, that, eluding her, blew hither and thither in a
tantalizing way, and at last, falling at the feet of Will Wentworth, was
picked up by him as he came out of the hall.

"It is mine, it is mine," shrieked Agnes; "keep it for me."

But Tilly, who was nearer to him, whispered agitatedly,--

"No, no, Will; don't give it to her,--she is--she means--"

"Mischief, I see," whispered back Will, with a swift, intelligent glance
at Tilly.

"And if you wouldn't read