"Not for the world," she answered, lifting lids at a side table. "I love breakfast. It's the only time when food seems to matter. I wouldn't think of letting anybody choose my breakfast." "There, at any rate, we agree," said Peter. "Do you like breakfast, too?" "It's an Oxford habit." "Then you haven't given up Oxford altogether?" said Lady Mary, speaking as one who had heard something. "Do you know all about me, like everybody else?" Peter groaned. "Of course. You don't know how famous you are. Everybody knows you were sent down from Gamaliel for being a Socialist." "I am not a Socialist," Peter hotly protested. Lady Mary's eyes were full of mischief: "You must have been sent down for being something." "I'm nothing at all," said Peter. "Are you quite sure?" "The silliest person alive is more than a label." Peter cursed himself. He had again delivered an apothegm. Why must he always be so heavily serious? Lady Mary was openly smiling. "I'm afraid we're all going to be very silly at Highbury during the next few days. We've simply got to label ourselves for Antony's sake." "Tories," said Peter, trying to be nice, "are exceptions." "You mean that Tories don't count?" "I really don't mean that," said Peter, genuinely grieved. "Then I'm afraid you don't mean anything at all." Lady Mary was clearly amused. Peter miserably looked at her, looked at his plate, and then heard himself say: "Why am I such a solemn ass?" "Who says that?" "I say it myself," said Peter. Lady Mary looked swiftly at his ingenuous face, in which exaggerated abasement struggled with a hope that she would reassure him. Her amusement was curiously shot with affection. "You oughtn't to have told me this so soon," she said, smiling at him in the friendliest way. "You see I don't yet know you well enough to contradict you. It would be rude." "Let me get you another sausage," said Peter, feeling a little better. As he brought her the food he saw her more familiarly. Last night in her amazing dress she had seemed fragile and elaborate--all woman and social creature. But this morning he saw just a friendly girl, plainly suited in brown tweed, accessible and soothing. Now he really saw what she was like. He discreetly admired her hair and expressive eyes, her slender features and delicate complexion. She spoke on a clear note, level and quiet, suggesting that her ideas and feelings were regular and securely in leash. The music of her voice was vibrant but very sure. It declared a perfect balance, the voice of a woman who would not suffer to appear in any of her personal tones or gestures anything which could not beautifully be expressed. At this point Marbury came into the room. Peter was bringing Lady Mary her sausage with the grave intentness of someone specially elected. "Hullo, Mary. Hullo, Peter. You seem to be eating well." "Yes," said Lady Mary. "This is my third sausage." "What does Peter say?"