at is it all about? What do you
mean, Tilly, dear, by 'innocent'? What has she," glancing at Agnes
disdainfully "been getting up against me?"

"Oh, Peggy, Peggy, don't!" moaned Tilly.

"Well, this is rich," laughed Agnes, jeeringly. "Nobody has been getting
up anything against you, Miss Smithson."

"What do you mean by calling me Miss Smithson? That isn't my name."

"Oh, isn't it?" derisively. "How long since did you change it for
Smith?"

"I have never changed it for Smith."

"Oh, I believe that 'Miss Smith' is down on the hotel register, and you
answer to that name."

CHAPTER VI.

"I beg your pardon," said Peggy, looking at Agnes with great scorn.
"'Mrs. Smith and niece' are down on the register. It was the clerk who
registered us in that way, and all of you seemed to take it for granted
that _my_ name must be Smith also. Perhaps I ought to have corrected the
mistake at once; but after I overheard that conversation on the piazza,
and--saw somebody examining the register a few minutes later" glancing
away from Agnes with a smile at Will, who looked rather sheepish--"after
that I thought I'd let the mistake go until the rest of the family
arrived, it was so amusing."

"Oh," retorted Agnes, "this all sounds very straight and pretty, but I
dare say you've got used to telling such stories. Perhaps you'll tell us
now what name you do call your own, and if it is by that those South
American friends you write to are known."

"Perhaps Mr. Tom Raymond will tell you," answered Peggy, quickly. "I've
thought for some time that he might be one of the Tennis Club that came
out to Fairview at my brother's invitation last summer, and I thought he
suspected who I was, and--and wouldn't tell because--because he saw,
just as I did, what fun the mistake was. But now, if he will, he can
introduce me--to my friends, Tilly and Will Wentworth, as--"

[Illustration: "Miss Pelham! Miss Margaret Pelham!"]

"Miss Pelham! Miss Margaret Pelham!" shouted Tom, before Peggy could go
any further.

"Pelham!" cried Tilly, in a dazed way.

"Pelham!" repeated Will.

"Yes, Pelham! Pelham!" exclaimed Tom, exultantly, flinging up his cap
with a chuckle of delighted laughter.

"And you're not--you're not the daughter of that dreadful Smithson?"
burst forth Tilly, in a little transport of happy relief.

"'That dreadful Smithson'? Who is he, and who said I was his daughter?"

"_She_ said it," roared Will, darting a furious look at