But at this one of Mrs. Cunningham's slender hands was imploringly raised. Her small mouth was parted in appeal. "Oh, please! Don't think of that! I should be miserable if I thought that was going to make any difference!" "But of _course_ it makes a difference!" Mollie declared. "All your things will be coming here, all your things for the wedding, and anyway you won't want Philip hanging about the place. Better never have offered the house at all!" "Oh--for a day or two--I shan't be in the way," said Philip uneasily. But it was awkward for all that. If Esdaile had offered his house to one of his more prosperous friends he would not have hesitated to say frankly that he was sorry, but something unforeseen had happened, and the hospitality must be considered "off." But this was different. It was known that these two were the reverse of well-off. Monty as a matter of fact had already given up his rooms in Jubilee Place, and I had gathered at breakfast that Mrs. Cunningham only intended to occupy her bed-sitting-room in Oakley Street for a very few days longer. There was her story, too, which I shall come to presently. Philip's decision certainly upset a number of minor arrangements. "Oh, it's too ridiculous!" Mollie declared again with vexation. "If it means that the wedding's to be put off I don't feel like going away at all." But Philip only continued to mumble soothingly that it would be quite all right, and it wasn't for long, and nobody had said anything about putting off the wedding. The situation looked rather like a deadlock, and Mackwith already had his silk hat in his hand and the Commander's white-topped cap was tucked under his upper arm. Whether Philip went or stayed was a private family matter after all. But as we were on the point of taking our leave yet another significant little trifle was added to all the rest. And again Monty Rooke provided the occasion. Monty, I ought to say, is one of these fellows who, whenever any odd job is to do, especially a domestic one, instinctively seems to take it upon himself. I dare say his living in rooms and studios hardly big enough to turn around in has made him methodical in his habits. It was Monty, for example, who had looked out the train in the Time Table; it was Monty who had picked up the jar of curaçao when Esdaile had let it fall to the floor; and it was Monty who, just as the rest of us were leaving, wandered off towards the studio, presently returned again, sought the kitchen, and reappeared with a sweeping-brush. "What are you going to do with that?" Philip asked, seeing him making for the studio again. "I thought I'd just sweep up that broken glass," Monty replied. "Better leave it," Philip answered. Monty carried the brush back to the kitchen again, and presently wandered off to the studio once more. Esdaile must have had eyes in the back of his head, for I, who was facing the studio, had not seen Monty preparing to draw back the roof-blinds again.