Connie came running back. 'You'll tell mamma where I've gone, won't you?' she asked, her eyes reminding her father of one-half of his duty. 'Oh, and possibly Mr. Chance will be here at dinner.' She managed to recall the other half. Fricker nodded; Peggy rose with an admirable unconsciousness. 'Hold your bag tight, Miss Ryle,' Fricker advised, with a gleam in his eye as he shook hands. 'That's all right. I'm well looked after,' said Peggy, as the servant opened the door. Two hansoms were waiting; in each sat a young man smoking a cigarette. At the sight of Peggy they leapt out; at the sight of the gorgeous young woman who accompanied Peggy they exchanged one swift glance and threw away the cigarettes. Introductions were made, Fricker standing and looking on, the butler peering over Fricker's shoulder. 'What time is it?' inquired Peggy. 'Quarter to four,' said Arty Kane. 'Oh, we must be quick, or--or tea'll be cold!' She turned to Miles Childwick. 'Will you go with Miss Fricker, Miles? Arty, take me. Come along. Good-bye, Mr. Fricker.' She kissed her hand to Fricker and jumped in; Arty followed. Miles, with a queer look of fright on his face, lifted his hat and indicated the remaining hansom. 'It's rather unconventional, isn't it?' giggled Connie, gathering her skirts carefully away from the wheel. 'Allow me,' begged Miles in a sepulchrally grave tone. He saw her in without damage, raised his hat again to Fricker, got in, and sat down well on the other side of the cab. He was of opinion that Peggy had let him in shamefully. 'I hope it's a quiet horse, or I shall scream,' said Connie. 'I hope it is,' agreed Miles most heartily. What his part would be if she screamed he dared not think; he said afterwards that the colours of her garments did quite enough screaming on their own account. Fricker watched them drive off and then returned to his study thoughtfully. But he was not engrossed in problems of finance, in the possibilities of Glowing Stars and of minimising the claims they would make. He was not even thinking of the odd way things had turned out in regard to Trix Trevalla, nor of how he had pledged himself to deal with Beaufort Chance. The only overt outcome of his meditations was the remark, addressed once again to his study walls:-- 'I'm not sure that Connie isn't a bit too lively in her dress.' The various influences which produced this illuminating doubt it would be tedious to consider. And the doubt had no practical result. He did not venture so much as to mention it to Connie or to Mrs. Fricker. CHAPTER XXI THE WHIP ON THE PEG