He dashed out, across the hall, and disappeared into his own room, where he could be heard opening drawers and banging cupboard doors. Philip picked up Peggy's velvet cloak and wrapped it round her. "Shall I come, too?" he asked, "and act as subsequent escort; or should I find myself a member of the ancient French family of De Trop?" Peggy picked up her gloves, fan, and handkerchief from the table, and said:-- "You would never be _de trop_ at any time, Philip. But I am not going to drag you to Chelsea to-night. Look--the fog is lifting!" She drew back the curtain of the window. Twinkling lights were discernible in the street below. They shook hands. "Have you given him his answer?" Philip blurted out. He could not help it. "Yes." "Can I--guess it?" "I don't know. You might. It's an even chance, isn't it?" Timothy appeared at the door. "Peggy, I am waiting," he mentioned coldly; and disappeared. "Coming, Tim," replied Peggy. "Good-night, Philip!" "Tim seems to have rather taken command of things," said Philip, as he escorted Peggy to the top of the stairs. "He is in a hurry, poor dear,--that's all. He hasn't completed his evening's programme yet. But I must fly." She turned to go; then paused. "It's as well you came in when you did, Philip," she said. "Two minutes later and you would have found me gone." "I am glad I got back in time," replied Philip gravely. Suddenly the girl looked up squarely into his face. "Do you know, _mon ami_," she said, with a whimsical smile, "you have a habit of running things rather fine." "Have I?" replied Philip dully. "You have. Talk about the eleventh hour! In--" "Pegg--ee!" The voice of the fermenting Timothy came booming up the staircase. Peggy did not hurry. "Good-night--Phil!" she said softly. "Good-night--Pegs!" replied Philip. He touched her hand awkwardly. They had not addressed one another thus since childhood. He watched her out of sight down the winding stair, and then turned heavily away. As he paused to close the outer door of the flat his ear caught the sound of light feet. He looked out. Peggy was standing at the top of the staircase. "Phil," she said, rather breathlessly, "don't forget to post your letter!" Then she fled. One second later Philip was standing by the lamplit table. His letter was gone, and another had taken its place. It was addressed to "Most Excellent Theophilus." He took it up, dizzily, and turned it over. On the back was written:-- _I have saved you a stamp by reading your letter before you posted it._ _P.S. You will find the stamp on the inkstand._ Finally he opened the letter. His own had occupied many pages; this, the answer, consisted of three words. Philip read them through. Then, rocking on his feet, he read them again, and again. Finally he raised his head and gazed dumbly about him. His eyes fell upon a twinkling circular object lying upon the table close beside the place where he had found the letter.