But her hope that in some way this might prove to be a case of mistaken
identity was soon extinguished. When she had slipped away to the
kitchen, at a suggestion from her mother that the guests should be
served with something to eat, she found that information concerning Mrs.
Peyton was to be had from Mrs. Fields.
"Peyton? For the lands' sake! Don't tell me she's here! Know her? I
guess I do! Of all the unfortunate things to happen right now, I should
consider her about the worst calamity. What is she? Oh, she ain't
anything--that's about the worst I can say of her. There ain't anything
bad about her--oh, no. Sometimes I've been driven to wish there was, if
I do say it! She's just what I should call one of them characterless
sort of folks--kind of soft and silly, like a silk sofy cushion without
enough stuffing in it. Always talking, she is, without saying anything
in particular. I don't know about the children. They were little things
when I saw 'em last. What do you say they look like?"
"The girl is about fourteen, I should think," said Celia, getting out
tray and napkins.
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