"Philip," enquired Miss Falconer of her patient that evening, "how much money have you got?" Philip ruminated. "I don't quite know," he said. "How much do you want?" "I want enough to find decent rooms for you to live in. Can you afford it?" "I suppose so. I don't spend half my income at present. My father left me a good deal, and I have my salary as well. But what is the matter with my present abode?" "It is poky, and dirty, and unfurnished, and quite impossible," said Peggy with finality. "You must move into something better." "The rooms suited me well enough," objected Philip. "I got through a good lot of work there. Besides, they were handy for Oxford Street." "Nevertheless, you will leave them," announced Peggy. Philip glowed comfortably. He liked being ordered about by his Lady. It showed that she took more than a passing interest in him, he argued. "If I do," he said cunningly, "will you come and see me there sometimes? Tea, or something? You could bring Miss Leslie," he added. "Mayhap," replied Peggy indulgently. "But listen: I have a plan. I think you and Tim Rendle ought to take rooms together. At present he is in a very stupid, expensive set of chambers in Park Place, wasting a lot of money and getting into bad habits. You could club together and take a lovely little flat, say in Knightsbridge, and have a proper servant and decent meals. Will you? Philip, what are you frowning about?" Philip's little glow of happiness had died away as suddenly as it came. That Peggy should make plans for his future was gratifying enough. But to be urged by one's Best Beloved to set up a permanent bachelor establishment is not an unmixed delight. Such a recommendation points in the wrong direction. Philip would have been better pleased had Peggy advised him to take a real house somewhere. Besides, the mention of Timothy had spoiled everything. Not that Philip was jealous, but Timothy's inclusion in the scheme had shorn the situation of its romance at a single blow. For one foolish moment Philip had imagined that Peggy's concern for his welfare and comfort had their roots in deep soil; but now the whole enterprise stood revealed for what it was--a mere feminine plot: a piece of maternal officiousness. Timothy and Philip were to be put into chambers together--Timothy to brighten up that dull dog Philip, and Philip to act as a check upon that irresponsible young idiot Timothy. Hence the ungracious frown. But his spoken objections took a different line. "Knightsbridge is a long way from Oxford Street," he said. "I know," replied Peggy calmly. "That is why I chose it." "Tim would rather interfere with my work," Philip continued. "I know," repeated Peggy. "That is why I chose _him_! He will be a nice distraction." "He will," growled Philip. Suddenly Peggy flared up. "Philip," she asked hotly, "why are you so cross? Don't you like Timothy?" "Yes, of course, I do; but--" "And wouldn't it be pleasant to have his company?"