"That's the magic carpet. Come, I'll show you," and seizing it she preceded Patricia to the top of the stairs. "Now sit on it," she cried, "and toboggan down. It's priceless." "But I couldn't." "Yes you could. Everybody does," cried Lady Peggy. Not quite knowing what she was doing Patricia found herself forced down upon the tea-tray, and the next thing she knew was she was speeding down the stairs at a terrific rate. Just as she arrived in the hall with flushed cheeks and a flurry of skirts, the door of the library opened and the Duke and Elton came out. Patricia gathered herself together, and with flaming cheeks and downcast eyes stood like a child expecting rebuke, instead of which the Duke merely smiled. Turning to Elton he remarked: "So Miss Brent has received her birth certificate." As he spoke the butler with sedate decorum picked up the tray and carried it into his pantry as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world for guests to toboggan down the front staircase. "To ride on Peggy's 'magic carpet,' as she calls it," said the Duke, "is to be admitted to the household as a friend. Come again soon," he added as he shook hands in parting. "Any Sunday at lunch you are always sure to catch us. We never give special invitations to the friends we want, do we, Peggy? and I want to have some more talks with you." As Patricia and Elton walked towards the Park he explained that Lady Peggy's tea-tray had figured in many little comedies. Bishops, Cabinet Ministers, great generals and admirals had all descended the stairs in the way Patricia had. "In fact," he added, "when the Duke was in the Cabinet, it was the youngest and brightest collection of Ministers in the history of the country. Every one of them was devoted to Peggy, and I think they would have made war or peace at her command." When Patricia arrived at Galvin House, she was conscious of the world having changed since the morning. All her gloom had been dispelled, the drawn look had passed from her face, and she felt that a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. CHAPTER XVIII THE AIR RAID "Miss Brent, please get up. There's an air raid." Mechanically Patricia sat up in bed and listened. Outside a police-whistle was droning its raucous warning; within there was the sound of frightened whispers and the noise of the opening and shutting of doors. Suddenly there was a shriek, followed by a low murmur of several voices. The sound of the police-whistle continued, gradually dying away in the distance, and the noises within the house ceased.