Trix came in splendour. She was very radiant, feeling sure that her troubles were at an end, and her sins forgiven in the popular and practical sense that she would suffer no more inconvenience from them. Had not Beaufort Chance raved his worst? and was not Fricker--well, at heart a gentleman? asked she with a smile. There was more. Triumph was impending; nay, it was won; it waited only to be declared. She smiled again to think that she was going to dine with these dear people on the eve of her greatness How little they knew! In this moment it is to be feared that Trix was something of a snob. She made what amends she could by feeling also that she was glad to have an evening with them before her greatness settled on her. Peggy was late; this was nothing unusual, but the delay seemed long to Tommy Trent, who awaited with apprehension her attitude towards the lavishness of the banquet. Would she walk out again? He glanced at Airey. Airey appeared commendably easy in his mind, and was talking to Trix Trevalla with reassuring animation. 'Here she comes!' cried Horace Harnack. 'She's got a new frock too,' murmured Elfreda, regarding her own complacently, and threatening to renew the subject on the least provocation. Peggy had a new frock. And it was black--plain black, quite unrelieved. Now she never wore black, not because it was unbecoming, but just for a fad. A new black frock must surely portend something. Peggy's manner enforced that impression. She did indeed give one scandalised cry of 'Airey!' when she saw the preparations, but evidently her mind was seriously preoccupied; she said she had been detained by business. 'Frock hadn't come home, I suppose?' suggested Miles Childwick witheringly. 'It hadn't,' Peggy admitted, 'but I had most important letters to write, too.' She paused, and then added, 'I don't suppose I ought to be here at all, but I had to come to Airey's party. My uncle in Berlin is dead.' She said this just as they sat down. It produced almost complete silence. Trix indeed, with the habits of society, murmured condolence, while she thought that Peggy might either have stayed away or have said nothing about the uncle. Nobody else spoke; they knew that Peggy had not seen the uncle for years, and could not be supposed to be suffering violent personal grief. But they knew also the significance of the uncle; he had been a real, though distant, power to them; the cheques had come from him. Now he had died. Their glances suggested to one another that somebody might put a question--somebody who had tact, and could wrap it up in a decorous shape. Peggy herself offered no more information, but sat down by Tommy and began on her soup. Conversation, reviving after the shock that Peggy had administered, presently broke out again. Under cover of it Peggy turned to Tommy and asked in a carefully subdued whisper: 'How much is a mark?' 'A mark?' repeated Tommy, who was tasting the champagne critically.