"You were born in the East?"

"Certainly I was!"

"Where, may I ask?"

"In India--in Calcutta, where my father's regiment was stationed."

"You lived there till you were quite big? You can remember all about
it?"

"All I want to remember. There was a great deal that I choose to
forget. I don't care for India. England is more congenial to my
feelings."

"And can you speak the language? Did you learn Hindostanee while you
were there?"

"Naturally. Of course I did."

A gasp of amazement came from the two girls in the window, for a
knowledge of Hindostanee had never been included in the list of Peggy's
accomplishments, and she was not accustomed to hide her light under a
bushel. They gazed at her with widened eyes, and Rosalind scented
scepticism in the air, and cried quickly--

"Say something, then. If you can speak, say something now, and let us
hear you."

"Pardon me!" said Peggy, simpering. "As a matter of fact, I was sent
home because I was learning to speak too well. The language of the
natives is not considered suitable for English children of tender age.
I must ask you to be so kind as to excuse me. I should be sorry to
shock your sensibilities."

Rosalind drew her brows together and stared steadily in the speaker's
face. Like many beautiful people, she was not over-gifted with a sense
of humour, and therefore Peggy's grandiose manner and high-sounding
words failed to amuse her as they did most strangers. She felt only
annoyed and puzzled, dimly conscious that she was being laughed at, and
that this girl with the small face and the peaked eyebrows was trying to
patronise her--Rosalind Darcy--instead of following the vicar's
daughters in adoring her from a respectful distance, as of course it was
her duty to do. She had been anxious to meet the Peggy Saville of whom
her brother had spoken so enthusiastically, for it was a new thing to
hear Rob praise a girl, but it was evident that Peggy on her side was by
no means eager to make her acquaintance. It was an extraordinary
discovery, and most disconcerting to the feelings of one who was
accustomed to be treated as a person of supreme importance. Rosalind
could hardly speak for mortification, and it was an immense relief when
the door opened, and Max and Oswald hurried forward to greet her. Then
indeed she was in her element, beaming with smiles, and indulging a
dozen pretty little tricks of manner for the benefit of their admiring
eyes.