Philip nodded. "Perhaps he told you?" "No. I have only just guessed." "How upsetting of you. I wanted it to be a surprise." "It is. He was dining here to-night, obviously on the war-path, and bound for the Freeborns' dance. But I never guessed you were the objective: I didn't know you were in town, for one thing. So you came here to tell me your news?" "Yes," said Peggy. "Not altogether," she added slowly. "I--I want to consult you, Philip. It's a big thing for a girl to have to decide on a plunge like this--the biggest thing she ever does. It rather--rather frightens her at times. If she has no mother, and no brothers or sisters, and--and a dad like my dad, it becomes a bigger thing than ever. Her best course, then, is to pick out the whitest man she knows, and ask him to advise her. That is why I am here." There was a long silence. Then Philip said:-- "I am very proud that you should have come to me. But--but I doubt if I am the right person. Why not ask a woman to advise you?" "Because," replied Peggy with great vigour, "women are such born matchmakers. If you go to a woman and confide to her that you are wobbling on the brink of matrimony, she won't advise you: she will simply step behind you and push you in! That is why I can't consult Jean Leslie,--Jean Falconer, I mean,--although she is my best friend. She is far too romantic to say or do anything practical. No, I must have a man, Philip; and I have picked you. You are the best sort I know; you have seen a good deal of life; and you are absolutely unbiased. You know me, and you know Tim. Now, shall I marry him?" Philip sat down rather heavily upon the fireguard, and pondered. "May I ask you two or three obvious and old-fashioned questions?" he said presently. Peggy nodded. "Do you--care for him?" Peggy wrinkled her brow. "He's rather a lamb, you know," she said, "and I am fond of him. But I don't quite know how much of it is the real thing and how much is gratitude. I think you know"--she hesitated--"that things have not always been too easy at home--" "Yes, I do know!" said Philip with sudden passion. "Sorry! Go on!" "--And Tim could take me away from that. He has been very good to me, always, and I have not too many friends. I find friends rather difficult to keep. I fancy Dad may be the reason. You, for instance, have given us up--" Philip made a sudden movement, but did not speak. "In fact, you have hardly been inside our house since you left it after your illness." This time Philip could answer. "I felt rude and churlish," he said earnestly, "but it seemed the best thing to do. You see, one of the last observations which your esteemed parent made to me was to the effect that he wished to congratulate me upon having got through my illness so inexpensively! After that--" "I know," said Peggy, smiling, "but I need not apologise. You know what Dad is." "He furthermore added--" said Philip, flushing.