Philip meekly fell in with her mood. He knew enough of the character of the girl before him to be quite certain that she had not visited his flat at midnight in order to show him her new frock. She wanted him for something: perhaps she was in trouble. Well, she would tell him in due course. For the moment, extenuating irrelevancies were to be the order of the day. "Miss Peggy Falconer," he began conscientiously, "looked charming in a white silk--" "Satin," corrected the charming one. "--satin creation, which was partly obscured from view by a sort of kilt--" "A tunic." "--a tunic, of pink gauze." "Of rose-coloured _chiffon_." "Thank you. Miss Falconer wore the neatest little white satin shoes, tied up with ribbon, and white silk--" "They are not usually mentioned." "Sorry! Miss Falconer wore long white gloves--" "They are taken for granted." "Well, anyhow," persisted the harassed Philip, "round her hair Miss Falconer wore a band of some stuff or other--" "Of _tulle_." "--of tulle, which very cleverly matched the colour of her ki--tunic. Over her shoulders she wore a filmy scarf, of the same stu--material. Her waistband, which she wore rather high up, contained a small bunch of carnations. Finally her appearance caused considerable gratification to one of her oldest friends, who did not know that she was in town." "I only got back this afternoon," said Peggy, who by this time had risen to her feet and was inspecting Philip's _lares et penates_. "By the way, your front door was ajar, Philip. Your last visitor must have left it open. Very careless! You might have been robbed." "I expect it was Friend Grice." Peggy babbled on. She was speaking vivaciously, and rather more rapidly than was her wont; another woman would have said that she was talking to exclude other topics. "It is more than a year since I was in these rooms, Philip. They are as snug as ever, but horribly untidy. Why do you always keep books on the floor? And your mantelpiece--tragic!" She ran her finger along the edge, and held it up reproachfully. "Look! Filthy!" The tip of her glove was black. "I shall have to take my gloves off, I see, to keep them clean." "I apologise. You have dropped in just before our annual dust-up. Most unfortunate!" "Are these your household gods?" continued Peggy, coming to a halt before the mantelpiece. "Yes." "Yours or Timothy's?" "Mine. Tim keeps his in the other room across the passage. We usually feed here and sit there." Peggy gave a little cry. "My dear Philip, when did you get those awful vases?" Philip explained, with more apologies. "And what is that queer thing there?" "That is a model of the Meldrum Carburettor." Peggy nodded her head. "I remember," she said. "I have met it before. I suppose you say your prayers to it. What is in that cracker jar?" "Tobacco."