'I'm sure you've a hansom at the door,' agreed Tommy. 'Sit down one minute, please,' he added. 'I want you to do something for me.' 'Be quick, then,' commanded Peggy, sitting down, but obviously under protest. 'And you have done something too,' she went on. 'You've connived at it. You've backed him up. You've helped to deceive us all. You've listened to me while I praised him. You've praised him yourself.' 'I told you he could afford to give the dinner.' 'Yes--as he told me to-day that he wasn't a pauper! He made me think I'd hurt his feelings. I felt wretched. I begged him to forgive me. Oh, but it's not that! Tommy, it's the wretched meanness of it all! He was just one of the six or seven people in the world; and now----!' Tommy was smoking, and had fallen into meditative silence. He did not lack understanding of her feelings--anything she felt was always vivid to him--and on his own account he was no stranger to the thoughts that Airey Newton's propensity bred. 'How much money has he got?' she asked abruptly. 'I mustn't tell you.' 'More than what you said to that man?' 'Yes, more.' 'A lot more?' Tommy spread out his hands and shrugged his shoulders. She knew all that mattered; it was merely etiquette that forbade an exact statement of figures; the essential harm was done. 'Well, you said you wanted something of me, Tommy.' 'I do. I want your word of honour that you'll never let Airey Newton know that you've found out anything about this.' He put his cigarette back into his mouth and smiled amicably at Peggy. 'I'm going straight to him to tell him I know it all. After that I sha'n't go any more.' 'Peggy, he's very fond of you. He'll hate your knowing, more than anybody else's in the world almost.' 'I shall tell him you're not to blame, of course.' 'I wasn't thinking of that. He's been very kind to you. There was always bread-and-butter!' This particular appeal miscarried; a subtlety of resentment centred on the bread-and-butter. 'I hate to think of it,' said Peggy brusquely. 'Do you really mean I'm to say nothing?' 'I mean much more. You're still to be his friend, still to go and see him, still to eat bread-and-butter. And, Peggy, you're still to love him--to love him as I do.' Peggy looked across at him, and looked with new eyes. He had been the dear friend of many sunny hours; but now he wore a look and spoke in tones that the sunny hours had not called forth. 'I stand by him, whatever happens, and I want you to stand by him too.' 'If it came to the point, you'd stand by him and let me go?' she asked with a sudden quick understanding of his meaning. 'Yes,' said Tommy simply. He did not tell her there would be any sacrifice in what she suggested. 'I don't believe I can do it,' moaned Peggy. 'Yes, you can. Be just the same to him, only--only rather nicer, you know. There's only one chance for him, you see.' 'Is there any chance?' she asked dolefully. Her eyes met his. 'Yes, perhaps I know what you mean,' said she.