'I'm in a terrible fright about--about something, all the same. Now come along. One of you is to get on one side of me and the other on the other; and you're to guard me. Do you see?' 'Orders, Arty!' They ranged themselves as they were commanded, and escorted Peggy downstairs. 'Doesn't the hansom present a difficulty?' asked Arty. 'No. I sit in the middle, leaning back; you sit on each side, leaning forward.' 'Reversing the proper order of things, Miles----' 'In order to intercept the dagger of the assassin, Arty. And where to, General?' 'The London and County Bank, Trafalgar Square,' said Peggy, with an irrepressible gurgle. 'By the memory of my mother, I swear it was no forgery! 'Twas but an unaccustomed pen,' murmured Miles. 'I am equal to giving the order,' declared Arty proudly; he gave it with a flourish. 'How soon are we to have a look-in, Peggy?' 'Hush! She's killed another uncle!' When the world smiled Peggy Ryle laughed aloud. It smiled to-day. 'See me as far as the door of the bank and wait outside,' she commanded, when she recovered articulate gravity. Their external gloom deepened; they were enjoying themselves, immensely. Peggy's orders were precisely executed. 'Present it with a firm countenance,' Miles advised, as she left them at the entrance. 'Confidence, but no bravado!' 'It is no longer a capital offence,' said Arty encouragingly. 'You won't be hanged in silk knee-breeches, like Mr. Fauntleroy.' Peggy marched into the bank. She opened the lean little bag, and took forth a slip of paper. This she handed to a remarkably tall and prim young man behind the counter. He spoilt his own effect by wearing spectacles, but accuracy is essential in a bank. He looked at the amount on the cheque; then he looked at Peggy. The combined effect seemed staggering. He took off his spectacles, wiped them, and replaced them with an air of meaning to see clearly this time. He turned the cheque over. 'Margaret Ryle' met him in bold and decided characters. Tradition came to his rescue. 'How will you take it?' he asked. Peggy burst out joyously: 'It's really all right, then?' The prim clerk almost jumped. 'I--I presume so,' he stammered, and fled precipitately from the first counter to the third. Peggy waited in some anxiety; old prepossessions were strong on her. After all, to write a cheque is one thing, to have it honoured depends on a variety of circumstances. 'Quite correct,' said the clerk, returning. He was puzzled; he hazarded a suggestion: 'Do you--er--wish to open----?' 'Notes, please,' said Peggy. He opened a drawer with many compartments. 'Hundreds!' cried Peggy suddenly. She explained afterwards that she had wanted as much 'crackle' as the little bag would hold. The clerk licked his forefinger. 'One--two--three--four----' 'Why should he ever stop?' thought Peggy, looking on with the sensation a millionaire might have if he could keep his freshness.