"Uncle would be as grateful as I am," Peggy assured him, "if he knew. He hated the thought of having Diogenes destroyed. Couldn't we disguise him somehow--paint him? I believe he could be dyed." "I'll take him into Rushleigh and see what can be contrived," he replied. "And, anyway, if necessary he can be sent away later. For the present I will adopt him. And--and any time you wish to see him you can come in and take him off the chain." Peggy grasped his hands more tightly. "You are so kind, so very kind," she said. "I will never forget. I wish there was something I could do for you." She looked so earnest in expressing this wish so really anxious to prove her gratitude, that Mr Musgrave felt himself sufficiently rewarded for the service he was rendering. The charge of a dog, even of a dog with such a record as Diogenes, was after, all no superhuman undertaking. "You overestimate the service," he said. "There is really no need for you to feel under any obligation." But Peggy would not allow this. "Once," she said slowly, taking her hands from his and moving a pace or two away, "you asked me to do something to oblige you--and I refused; refused because I saw no reason, I told you, for complying with the request." She suddenly smiled as she met his quiet scrutiny, and made a slight gesture with her hand in the direction of the dog. "You might quite as aptly apply that argument in this case; there really isn't any reason why you should oblige me now." "Not so," he interrupted. "The reason lies in my wish to oblige you." Peggy nodded. "That is a reason I also have discovered," she said. "I can give the promise now which you asked me for on Christmas Eve--do you remember?... about the smoking... because the argument I used then doesn't hold any longer. I wish," she added, "that I had given the promise at the time." "Thank you," John Musgrave returned quietly. It was a curious fact, in consideration of how objectionable the practice of smoking in women had once appeared to Mr Musgrave, that he should experience so little triumph in this victory. He had seen Peggy smoke on two separate occasions, and, although the sight had pleased him ill, he had reluctantly admitted that with some women the habit, if deplorable, was not unbecoming. The reason Peggy allowed for making the promise, rather than the promise itself, gave John Musgrave pleasure. Peggy took an affectionate farewell of the wondering Diogenes, enjoining on him the necessity for behaving with the utmost propriety; and then, while Mr Musgrave held the door cautiously ajar, she slipped out after him through the narrow opening and left Diogenes, indignantly protesting, on the other side. Peggy returned home with a heart so lightened that she found it difficult to dissemble before the Chadwicks and wear a mien becoming to the double tragedy that had robbed Mrs Chadwick of her pampered pet and herself of her daily companion.