'Yes. German money, you know.' 'Oh, about a shilling.' 'A shilling?' Peggy pondered. 'I thought it was a franc?' 'No, more than that. About a shilling.' Peggy gave a sudden little laugh, and her eyes danced gleefully. 'You mustn't look like that. It's not allowed,' said Tommy firmly. 'Then twenty thousand marks----?' whispered Peggy. 'Would be twenty thousand shillings--or twenty-five thousand francs--or in the depreciated condition of Italian silver some twenty-seven thousand lire. It would also be five thousand dollars, more cowrie shells than I can easily reckon, and, finally, it would amount to one thousand pounds sterling of this realm, or thereabouts.' Peggy laughed again. 'I'm sorry your uncle's dead,' pursued Tommy gravely. 'Oh, so am I! He was always disagreeable, but he was kind too. I'm really sorry. Oh, but Tommy----' The effort was thoroughly well-meant, but sorrow had not much of a chance. Peggy's sincerity was altogether too strong and natural. She was overwhelmed by the extraordinary effect of the uncle's death. 'He's left me twenty thousand marks,' she gasped out at last. 'Don't tell anybody--not yet.' 'Well done him!' said Tommy Trent. 'I knew he was a good sort--from those cheques, you know.' 'A thousand pounds!' mused Peggy Ryle. She looked down at her garment. 'So I got a frock for him, you see,' she explained. 'I wish this was my dinner,' she added. Apparently the dinner might have served as a mark of respect as well as the frock. 'Look here,' said Tommy. 'You've got to give me that money, you know.' Peggy turned astonished and outraged eyes on him. 'I'll invest it for you, and get you forty or fifty pounds a year for it--regular--quarterly.' 'I'm going to spend it,' Peggy announced decisively. 'There are a thousand things I want to do with it. It is good of uncle!' 'No, no! You give it to me. You must learn to value money.' 'To value money! Why must I? None of us do.' She looked round the table. 'Certainly we've none of us got any.' 'It would be much better if they did value it,' said Tommy with a politico-economical air. 'You say that when you've made poor Airey give us this dinner!' she cried triumphantly.