The daughter was not too well dressed. She wore a short and rather ragged frock, and had holes in her stockings. But she was a picturesque little figure, with a pretty face and wild coppery hair. Mr. Falconer had intended to devote a sulphurous morning to the completion of "Strange Bedfellows." This prospect possibly accounted for the omelette incident, for Peggy's papa possessed what is indulgently called a temperament, which, being interpreted, means a dislike (from which many of us less highly-strung people also suffer) of performing uncongenial duties. But at the sight of the little girl, his professional instincts despatched him hot-foot through the French window into the garden. Here, with much shouting and redundancy of words, he secured from the dazed but gratified parent, in return for an unnecessarily generous fee, the services of her daughter as model for a head-study. "I'll run 'er home and wash 'er face, sir," she announced, "and you shall 'ave 'er back in 'alf an hour." She was better than her word. The little girl returned in twenty-five minutes. Not only was her face washed, but she wore her Sunday frock, together with a pair of sixteen-button boots of patent leather,--the patent upon which had palpably expired,--once evidently the property of a lady of fashion, and a tragic travesty of a toque. Under her arm she bore her mother's umbrella; and her wild mane was screwed into two tight pigtails, fastened at the tips with bows of magenta ribbon. Montagu Falconer, blaring like a bull, cast her forth, weeping, to be intercepted and comforted with clandestine cake by Mrs. Falconer at the back door. After this followed a savage onslaught, some two hours in duration, on "Strange Bedfellows," which infuriated its creator so much that at luncheon his wife was afforded a more than usually numerous series of opportunities for "making allowances." In the afternoon there was a slight lull, for Montagu betook himself and his temperament for an airing on the Heath. He returned sheer drunk with the glories of an autumn sunset, to make a heavy and unwholesome tea. But in an evil moment he asked for his daughter, and it was discovered that she was not in the house. A hurricane sprang up in a moment, increasing to a typhoon when Miss Peggy arrived with a stained frock and a bruised knee. She was despatched incontinently to bed, where cook and the housemaid and (later) her mother combined to tend her wounds and supply her with abundant, if surreptitious, refreshment.