"I will think things over in the night watches," said Mrs. Falconer, "and in the morning I will come and tell you what to do. Now, you queer little mortal, eat up your supper and go to sleep. As you have no mother, do you think I might give you one kiss?" That was half an hour ago. Philip was conscious of a slight draught upon the back of his neck, which was turned towards the door. Hardly had he realised this when he was aware of an inarticulate roar; and into his field of vision there bounded a gentleman with a golden beard and a fiery eye, wearing a black velvet dinner-jacket. This was doubtless Pegs's father, and from external evidence he was suffering from one of his "tempers." "What the Blazing Henry are you doing here?" bawled the gentleman. Philip replied politely that he was having supper. "Supper?" yelled Montagu Falconer. "How dare you have supper in my studio? How dare you bring your filthy food in here? Tell me that!" His eye fell upon the tray, suggesting a fresh outrage. "Where did that supper come from?" he demanded. "Where from, you mooncalf?" "It came along that passage," replied the mooncalf, taking a drink of cocoa. Peggy's papa waved his arms and raved. "Curse you!" he shouted. "Don't drink cocoa in my presence! It is a beastly habit and a beastly beverage. It's my cocoa, too!" "It was getting cold," explained Philip, in extenuation. "And don't answer back!" bellowed the master of the house. "Don't answer back, or I'll brain you--like--like this!" He snatched a mediæval mace from off the wall, and, to Philip's intense gratification, proceeded to pound an Etruscan vase into smithereens. "Who are you?" he continued. "Who are you, to go filibustering all over my house? Who are you, to insinuate your disgusting presence into my kitchen and forage among my household stores?" Philip, still keeping a hopeful eye on the mediæval mace, considered. "I'm a boy," he said cautiously. This eminently reasonable explanation only exasperated Mr. Falconer still further. "No, you are _not_!" he bawled. "You are a criminal! Do you know I have a wife and daughter--let alone a staff of young and innocent servants? Supposing one of them had seen you? You might have frightened them all out of their wits--you toad!" Mr. Falconer stamped up and down the room, plainly meditating further acts of violence. Philip, realising that his host had not yet been taken into the confidence of his wife and daughter regarding the present situation, decided to be cautious. Presently the fermenting Montagu came to a standstill. "Why did you come here at all?" he demanded. "I wanted somewhere to sleep," replied Philip. Montagu uplifted clenched hands to heaven. "Unutterable dolt!" he roared. "Do you imagine you are in a common lodging-house?" "Oh, no, sir," Philip assured him. "I like your pictures awfully," he added, with a friendly smile. This time Montagu Falconer first gaped at him, and then enquired:-- "Are you a _crétin_?"