"If I ask you to come and see me here, where I am lying severely wounded, it is not with an intention to solicit a favour for myself personally--although I'll not deny that the sight of a kind and familiar face would be a boon to a lonely and friendless man--but with a deep desire to advance Mr. Trevor's happiness. Lest you may imagine I am committing an unpardonable impertinence and thereby totally misunderstand me, I may say that this happiness can only be achieved by the aid of powerful friends both in London and Paris. "It is only because the lad is the one thing dear to me left in the world, that I venture to intrude on your privacy at such a time. "I am, dear Madam, "Yours very faithfully, "PHINEAS MCPHAIL." Peggy came down to breakfast, and having dutifully kissed her parents, announced her intention of going to London by the eleven o'clock train. "Why, how can you, my dear?" asked Mrs. Conover. "I've nothing particular to do here for the next few days." "But your father and I have. Neither of us can start off to London at a moment's notice." Peggy replied with a wan smile: "But, dearest mother, you forget. I'm an old, old married woman." "Besides, my dear," said the Dean, "Peggy has often gone away by herself." "But never to London," said Mrs. Conover. "Anyhow, I've got to go." Peggy turned to the old butler. "Ring up Sturrocks's and tell them I'm coming." "Yes, miss," said Burford. "He's as bad as you are, mother," said Peggy. So she went up to London and stayed the night at Sturrocks's alone, for the first time in her life. She half ate a lonely, execrable war dinner in the stuffy, old-fashioned dining-room, served ceremoniously by the ancient head waiter, the friend of her childhood, who, in view of her recent widowhood, addressed her in the muffled tones of the sympathetic undertaker. Peggy nearly cried. She wished she had chosen another hotel. But where else could she have gone? She had stayed at few hotels in London: once at the Savoy; once at Claridge's; every other time at Sturrocks's. The Savoy? Its vastness had frightened her. And Claridge's? No; that was sanctified for ever. Oliver in his lordly way had snapped his fingers at Sturrocks's. Only the best was good enough for Peggy. Now only Sturrocks's remained.