'If it should!' gasped Peggy. 'What did you say he said?' 'That there was hope for Glowing Stars--that I oughtn't to----' 'No, you told me another word; you said he used another word.' 'Oh, yes, he was very particular about it,' smiled Trix. 'And, of course, I mustn't exaggerate. He said there was a glimmer of hope.' 'Ah!' said Peggy. 'I'll come into the other room directly, dear.' She went back to the looking-glass and proceeded with the task of brushing her hair. Her face underwent changes which that operation (however artistically performed and consistently successful in its effect) hardly warranted. She frowned, she smiled, she grew pensive, she became gloomy, she nodded, she shook her head. Once she shivered as though in apprehension. Once she danced a step, and then stopped herself with an emphatic and angry stamp. 'A glimmer of hope!' she murmured at last. 'And poor dear old Airey's left there in Danes Inn, fighting it out alone!' She joined her hands behind her head, burying them in the thickness of her hair. 'Oh, Airey dear, be good,' she whispered; 'do be good!' She was so wrapped up in this invocation or entreaty that she quite lost sight of the fact that she herself was relieved of one part of her burden. Trix could not charge her with treachery now. But then it had never been Trix's accusation that she feared the most. CHAPTER XX PURELY BUSINESS They did not know what they had been summoned for, and they were rather discontented. 'Just in the middle of a business man's business day!' ejaculated Arty Kane. 'Just as I'm generally sat down comfortably to lunch!' Miles Childwick grumbled. 'Just when I'm settling down to work after breakfast!' moaned Arty. They were waiting in the sitting-room at Harriet Street. It was 2.15 in the afternoon. A hansom stood in the street; they had chartered it, according to orders received. 'What does she want us for?' asked Arty. 'A wanton display of dominion, in all likelihood,' suggested Miles gloomily. 'I'm not under her dominion,' objected Arty, who was for the moment devoted to a girl in the country. 'I've always maintained that you were no true poet,' said Miles disagreeably. Peggy burst in on them--a Peggy raised, as it seemed, to some huge power of even the normal Peggy. She carried a lean little leather bag. 'Is the cab there?' she cried. 'All things in their order. We are here,' Miles reminded her with dignity. 'We've no time to lose,' Peggy announced. 'We've two places to go to, and we've got to be back here by a certain time--and I hope we shall bring somebody with us.' 'In the hansom?' asked Arty resignedly. 'In two hansoms--at least you know what I mean,' said Peggy. 'Isn't she a picture, Arty? Dear me, I beg your pardon, Miss Ryle. I didn't observe your presence. What happens to have painted you red to-day?'