"No--never. He only paints wolf-scarers now. I tell him what to paint." Philip's eyebrows rose, despite themselves. "Yes, I do!" maintained Miss Falconer stoutly. "The other day he said to me: 'Here, Peggy, you understand the taste of the Hoypolloy'--that's another French word for people--'so give me an idea for a pot-boiler.' (He calls wolf-scarers 'pot-boilers' sometimes: I don't know why.) And I said: 'Well, I think it would be nice to have a picture of a little girl in a lovely frock with a new doll, showing it round the doll's house and introducing it to all the other dolls.' He laughed, and said: 'That's capital. I bet a sovereign they put that one on the line.' When I asked what line, he said, 'the clothes line.' He is a funny man," concluded Peggy once more. They sat on for some time, discussing adult peculiarities. Finally Philip announced that he must go, for Uncle Joseph would return at four o'clock and expect him to tea. As they parted, Philip enquired awkwardly:-- "I say, Pegs,--will you tell me? I couldn't help wondering about something just now." "What was it?" enquired Peggy graciously. Philip asked his question too bluntly. Miss Peggy's small frame stiffened indignantly. "I wasn't ever doing any such thing," she announced in outraged tones. Philip, whose knowledge of the sex was improving, had the sense to withdraw the imputation and apologise at once. Then he waited. "Perhaps I was, just a little bit," admitted Peggy presently. "What was the matter?" asked Philip gently. "It was Father. He boxed my ears after lunch, for making a noise. I was only singing, but he is in one of his bad tempers just now. He will be all right in a day or two." Philip, much to his surprise, found himself trembling with indignation. "Does he do it often?" he asked between his clenched teeth. "No, not often. Besides, he can't help it. Men are just like children, Mother says. You have to make allowances for them. I always try to remember that. The daily work of half the women in the world is to make allowances for some man or other, Mother says. Good-night, Phil!" "Good-night, Pegs!" The little girl ran off through the gathering gloom, turning to wave her hand before she disappeared. Philip walked slowly home, pondering in his heart yet another (and quite unsuspected) aspect of the relations between men and women. There were two sides to every question, it appeared. His education was proceeding apace. CHAPTER V MISTAKEN IDENTITY UNCLE JOSEPH had an adventure in town which amused him immensely. The International Brotherhood of Kind Young Hearts, it may be remembered, radiated its appeals from within the precincts of Pontifex Mansions, Shaftesbury Avenue. It was quite a good address, but, like many of the good things of this world, looked best on paper.