"WELL, I have one thing to be thankful for; there might have been another man in the background. Now we must get back to work. _Labor omnia vincit_, my son." Thus Philip to himself. Then he continued, less philosophically:-- "I suppose I had better keep right away from her. I simply couldn't stand any half-a-loaf sort of friendship. All the same, I'll keep in the offing, in case I am wanted." Then he went back to Oxford Street, and told himself that work was the salt of life. But the spell was broken. _Labor omnia vincit_ proved to be exactly what Julius Mablethorpe had said it was--only half a truth; and Dumps's conclusion that Love and Work are interdependent terms was borne out to the letter. Philip worked as hard as ever--harder, in fact: never had the business in Oxford Street been more efficiently conducted--but the zest of it all was gone. Without Peggy--or prospective Peggy--the day's work, which had been a series of absorbingly interesting enterprises, was now a monotonous round. The whirr of machinery had been music; now it was merely an unpleasant noise. To overcome difficulties and grapple with emergencies had been a sheer joy; to do so now was a weariness to the flesh. Philip could not but recall, as he slogged on, Uncle Joseph's description of his beloved regiment after the episode of Vivien:--_The only difference was that whereas the regiment had formerly been commanded by a Damascus blade, it was now commanded by a broomstick._ Family history appeared to be walking in a circle. But he had no blame for Peggy. She had never encouraged him, never led him on, never deliberately appropriated his services. She had been infinitely kind to him--and that was all. If this hitherto unsuspected hardness in her nature was a permanent thing; if she was determined to live her own life and be independent--well, here was a unique opportunity for a knight to prove his metal--to justify his boast that he could serve without ulterior motives or hope of reward. If his Lady had selected another knight in preference to him, matters would have been different: proper pride would have driven Philip away. But so long as Peggy walked alone and unprotected, his vocation in life was clear and unmistakable. But it was an uphill business; until by a fortunate chance it occurred to those in authority at Coventry that Philip's abilities were being wasted upon the mechanical routine of the London Office. Straightway he was transferred to headquarters, where he was put in charge of the Design and Construction Department of the Company--at liberty to invent and experiment to his heart's content.