"You generally do," she answered. "But it puzzles me to think how you contrive adventures in Moresby. Nothing ever happens when I pass beyond the gates. It would cause me a shock if it did." "It caused me several shocks," Peggy replied, looking amused. "I experience them again when I review the afternoon's doings. You'd never guess where I've been." "Then I won't try to. Tell me. If you give me a shock it may shake off the _ennui_ I am suffering. You have done something audacious, I suppose." Peggy ceased munching her cake and tried to look serious, but failed. Two tantalising dimples played at the corners of her mouth and her eyes shone wickedly. "A little audacious, perhaps," she allowed. "In the first place, I've been walking out with the sexton. He was quite interesting and agreeable until he began to discuss corpses. That made me feel uncomfortable; so I left him and went to call on Mr Musgrave." "_What_!" exclaimed Mrs Chadwick. "It is all right," Peggy proceeded reassuringly. "Nobody saw me. I slipped in through the tradesmen's entrance and interviewed him in the kitchen chaperoned by the cook and a sour-faced parlourmaid. Having satisfied the proprieties thus far, we proceeded to the hall for more intimate conversation. He is not as fossilised as he looks. He accompanied me through the garden and kept my glove for a souvenir of the visit. And I think," Peggy paused and looked into the fire with a dancing gleam of mischief in the grey eyes, "I think," she added, smiling, "that he will send me a present of a new pair. Now confess, you would never have credited John with being such a sport." "When you have finished romancing," Mrs Chadwick said severely, "perhaps you will explain exactly what you have been up to. If you had wished to see Mr Musgrave you could have accomplished your purpose by remaining at home. He was here this afternoon." "That wouldn't have proved so exciting," Peggy returned. "He doesn't open out in front of other people. I like John best in his own home." She rose with a laugh, and, approaching the sofa, seated herself at Mrs Chadwick's side. "I couldn't help it," she said with an affectation of contrition. "It all just happened. Things will, you know." And then she gave a more detailed account of the afternoon's doings. Mrs Chadwick was amused, in spite of a slight vexation. Peggy's veracious version of her intrusion on Mr Musgrave was disconcerting to her listener; and the anecdote of the glove, which lost nothing in the telling, seemed to Mrs Chadwick, who possessed a certain insight into John Musgrave's sensitive mind, the last straw in the load of prejudice which would bias John Musgrave's opinion of her niece. She could cheerfully at the moment have boxed Peggy's ears. But Peggy, laughing and unrepentant, hung over her aunt and kissed her. Mrs Chadwick was as weak as water when Peggy coaxed. "I hope he doesn't send you that pair of gloves," was all she said.