“Some day I shall enter a ball-room and see a little lady sitting by the door waving her hands in the air, and using words a mile long, and shall say to myself, ‘Do my eyes deceive me? Is it indeed the Peggy Pickle of the Past?’ and my host will say, ‘My good sir, that is the world-famous authoress Mariquita de Ponsonby Plantagenet Saville! Stevenson, I assure you, is not in it for flow of language, and she is so proud of herself that she won’t speak to anyone under a belted earl.’” “That sounds nice!” said Peggy approvingly, “I should like that, but it wouldn’t be a ball, you silly boy, it would be a conversazione where all the clever and celebrated people of London were gathered together, ‘To have the honour of meeting Miss Saville.’ There would be quite a number of people whom we knew among the Lions. A very grand Lady Somebody or other, the beauty of the season—Rosalind of course—all sparkling with diamonds, and leaning on the arm of a distinguished-looking gentleman with orders on his breast. That’s Arthur. I’m determined that he shall have orders. It’s the only thing that could reconcile me to the loss of the Victoria Cross, and a dress coat is so uninteresting without trimmings! A fat lady would be sitting in a corner prattling about half-a-dozen subjects all in one moment—that’s Mellicent, and a tall, lean lady in spectacles would be imparting useful information to a dandy with an eyeglass stuck in one eye—that’s Esther and Oswald! Oh dear, I wonder—I wonder—I wonder! It’s like a story book, Rob, and we are at the end of the first volume. How much shall we have to do with each other in the second and third, and what is going to happen next—and how—and when?” “We—we have to part, that’s the next thing,” said Rob sadly. “Here comes the carriage, and Arthur is shouting to us to stop. It’s good-bye, for the present, Mariquita; there’s no help for it!” “At the cross roads!” said Peggy slowly, and her eye wandered to the signboard which marked the paths branching north, south, east, and west. She stopped short and stood gazing into the boy’s face, her eyes big and solemn, the wind blowing her hair into loose little curls beneath her scarlet cap, while her mind seized eagerly on the significance of the position. “At the cross roads, Rob, to go our different ways! Good-bye, good-bye! I hate to say it. You—you won’t forget, and like the horrid boys at college better than me, will you, Rob?” Robert gave a short, strangled little laugh. “I think—not! Cheer up, partner! We will meet again and have a better time together than we have had yet. The third volume is always more exciting than the first. I say we shall, and you know when I make up my mind to a thing, it has to be done!”