"No, not supper," replied Philip gravely. "I mean this. A man usually regards these gatherings as a means to an end. He doesn't turn out after a hard day's work, to stand wedged in a hot room for hours on end, just because he likes it. He does not want to meet a chattering mob in the least. But he does want to meet one particular person very much, indeed; and perhaps the only way in which he can achieve his object is by plunging into a crowded room and talking to fifty bores first. It seems a terrible waste of energy,--like installing an entire electric light plant to illuminate one globe,--but sometimes it is the only way. And usually it is worth it!" He paused, feeling a little surprised at himself. He could never have talked like this to Peggy a few months ago. Peggy said nothing. "I often wonder," continued Philip presently, "when I find myself at one of these entertainments, how many of the men there have come because they like it and how many have come simply in the hope of encountering one particular pair of bright eyes. Women, I suppose, go because they really do enjoy it--the dresses, and the gaiety, and the opportunity to sparkle, and because it is the right house to be seen at--" "Not always," said Peggy. "But why do _you_ go, Philip?" She repented of the question the moment she asked it, but Philip, who had planned the lines of this conversation months beforehand, and was not nearly nimble enough to take advantage of unexpected short cuts, blundered straight on. "I go," he said frankly, "to try and get polished up a bit. I think I confessed to you once before that I was a pretty dull dog. I'm trying to cure that. So I go out tea-fighting." "And all the time you would rather be at home with your feet on the mantelpiece?" "Not necessarily. Supposing, as I sat with my feet on the mantelpiece, that some one--some one particular--came into the room and tapped me on the shoulder, and said: 'Now then, wake up! I have a new frock on, and I want you to take me out somewhere where I can show it off'--Well, that would make all the difference in the world. I--I should be proud to go, then!" These words were spoken hurriedly and awkwardly, for Philip's heart was beating furiously. He was getting near the climax of this laboriously engineered conversation, and it seemed almost too much to hope that he would be permitted to deliver the grand attack without being headed off. But he certainly was not prepared for Peggy's next remark. "I see. Well, Theophilus, there is nothing else for it: we must find you a wife." This was said quite deliberately, and needless to say, it entirely disorganised Philip's plan of campaign. With a sudden cold shock he realised that the conversation had taken another short cut, and that the crisis was upon him before he was ready.