The clock of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, struck 12.30. 'Here's the key,' said Peggy helpfully. 'Have you half a crown, Tommy?' 'I have a florin, and it's three-quarters of a mile.' Peggy looked defiant for a minute; then she gave a funny little laugh. 'All right,' said she. They went in. The policeman yawned and resumed his stroll; the woman, after a moment's hesitation, walked slowly round the corner and down towards the Strand. Arrived upstairs, Peggy darted at the table; a telegram lay there. She tore it open. 'They've done it!' she cried exultantly. 'What church?' asked Childwick resignedly. 'I mean they're engaged.' 'When?' inquired Tommy, who was busy with soda-water. '6.45,' answered Peggy, consulting the stamp on the telegram. 'They might have waited till the hour struck,' remarked Childwick in a disgusted tone. 'Isn't it splendid?' insisted Peggy. 'You say something proper, Tommy, old boy,' Childwick was ostentatiously overcome. 'Is it a--an enthusiastic telegram?' asked Tommy, after a drink. 'No. She only says they're the happiest people in the world.' 'If it's no worse than that, we can sit down to supper.' Mr. Childwick proceeded to do so immediately. 'I ordered lobsters,' said Peggy, as she threw her cloak away and appeared resplendent in her best white frock. 'The mutton's here all right,' Childwick assured her. 'And there's a good bit left.' 'What that pair propose to live on----' began Tommy, as he cut the loaf. 'The diet is entirely within the discretion of the Relieving Officer,' interrupted Childwick. 'I'm so glad she's done it while I've got some money left. Shall I give her a bracelet or a necklace, or--could I give her a tiara, Tommy?' 'A tiara or two, I should say,' smiled Tommy. 'It's awfully hot!' Peggy rose, pulled up the blind, and flung the window open. 'Let's drink their health. Hurrah!' Their shouts made the policeman smile, and caused the woman, who, having gone down round the west corner, had come up again and turned into the street from the east, to look up to the lights in the window; then she leant against the railings opposite and watched the lights. The policeman, after a moment's consideration, began to walk towards her very slowly, obviously desiring it to be understood that he was not thereby committed to any definite action; he would approach a crowd on the pavement, having some invisible centre of disturbance or interest, with the same strictly provisional air. 'And how was our friend Lady Blixworth?' asked Tommy. 'She looked tired, and said she'd been taking Audrey Pollington about. She's the most treacherous accomplice I know.' 'She's like Miles here. Nothing's sacred if a good gibe's possible.' 'Nothing ought to be sacred at which a good gibe--a good one--is possible,' Childwick maintained. 'Oh, I only meant something smart,' explained Tommy contemptuously.