"Peggy Falconer," enquired Miss Leslie at last, "will you come and sit down in that chair, or will I take you by the shoulders and put you there?" "Sorry, dear," said Peggy; "I have the fidgets." She dropped rather listlessly into a chair, and then, for no apparent reason, got up and sat in another. "Why is my best chair not good enough for you?" enquired Miss Leslie sternly. "At your age, you ought not to be manoeuvring to get your back to the window." "It wasn't that, really," protested Peggy. "It just was," replied Miss Leslie. She rose from her seat, and taking the girl by the elbows, turned her toward the light. Peggy submitted, smiling. "And now," resumed Jean Leslie, sitting down again, "what is the trouble?" "You really are very Early-Victorian, Jean," said Peggy severely. "You yearn for sentimental confidences and heart-to-heart talks. But it's simply not done now: hearts went out with chignons. Give me a large and heavy piece of that muffin, please, and I will pander to your tastes by talking about Prince Adolphus." Prince Adolphus was the exalted title of a purely hypothetical Fairy Personage who was one day to lead Miss Leslie to the altar. He had been invented by Miss Leslie herself, and formed a stock subject of humorous conversation with her younger friends. Miss Leslie said no more, but passed the muffins. "How is that boy Timothy?" she enquired. The mention of Prince Adolphus had brought Timothy into her thoughts: Timothy had always expressed profound jealousy of His Royal Highness. Peggy laughed. "Very careworn," she said. "Since Philip was sent to Coventry he has been in sole charge at Oxford Street. By the way, he wants us to lunch with him on Sunday. Can you manage it?" "I don't know. I am half-expecting a visit from a fellow countrywoman of mine." "Do I know her?" "I doubt it. Her husband is second engineer on a liner that plies between London and Melbourne. She has a good deal of leisure on her hands, poor soul." Peggy asked the question that a woman always asks another in this connection. "No," replied Miss Leslie; "neither chick nor child; so when her man has been away for a month or so, and drinking tea with the wives of other second engineers in Gravesend begins to pall, she likes to come round here and crack with me. I knew her in the old days: her father was head forester to us. She would be disappointed if she found me from home. She never tells me when she is coming: she would regard such a proceeding as presumptuous. So"--Miss Leslie sighed resignedly--"I just have to stay in for her. Her husband sailed four weeks ago, and there has been a hurricane in the Indian Ocean this week; so I fancy she is about due." "Everybody seems to bring their troubles to you, Jean," said Peggy. Miss Leslie looked up.