He drew aside the curtains and inspected the night. The plate-glass window had become mysteriously opaque; so he raised the sash--to lower it again with all speed, coughing. A thick brown fog, of the brand affectionately known among its habitual inhalers as "London particular," was lying in a sulphurous pall over the choking city. "All the same, my lad," decided Philip, "you had better trot out and post it. It will be delivered at Tite Street to-morrow morning, and perhaps some Christian person there will forward it. Perhaps Jean Leslie will. Wish I could post myself, too," he added wistfully. "Hello, what's that?" From the little lobby outside came the sharp rat-tat of a knocker--low, clear, and rhythmical. To judge by the sound, the outer door was standing open, and some person unknown was indulging in a playful little tattoo. _"Officers' wives get pudding and pies, Soldiers' wives get skill-y!"_ it said. Philip's heart almost broke from its moorings. Hastily he picked up the shaded lamp from the table and turned its light to illuminate the doorway. Next moment there came a quick and familiar step outside. The door of the room opened gently; and there appeared, radiant and dazzling against the blackness behind, a Vision. "_Peggy!_" "Yes--just me!" replied the Vision demurely. CHAPTER XXX THE SILENT KNIGHT PEGGY walked to the fire and warmed her hands delicately. She was wrapped in a dark-blue velvet opera-cloak trimmed with fur. One corner had fallen back, showing the pink silk lining. Presently she slipped this garment off, and throwing it across a chair sat down upon the padded top of the fireguard with a contented sigh and smiled seraphically upon her host. The clock struck half-past twelve. "Peggy," enquired the respectable Philip severely, "what on earth are you doing here?" "I came to see you, Theophilus," replied Peggy. "Aren't you glad to see me?" "Such conduct," observed Philip resolutely, "is most reprehensible." "Yes, isn't it? But I was at a dance close by, and I thought you would like to see my new frock. Do you think it is pretty?" Philip merely gaped. He was all at sea. Peggy regarded him covertly for a moment, and spoke again. "When a lady," she remarked reproachfully, "takes the trouble to climb up four flights of stairs to show a gentleman her new frock, it is usual for the gentleman to say something appreciative." "I think it is beautiful," said Philip, feasting his eyes upon her. Peggy, noticing this, decided to divert his attention from the wearer to the garment. "And yet," she said, "if you were asked to describe it to-morrow, you would not be able to remember a single thing about it." "I should remember every detail," replied Philip, "but I should not be able to describe it. There's a difference, you know." "Try--now," suggested Peggy.