'Just in the middle of a business man's business day!' ejaculated Arty Kane.
'Just as I'm generally sat down comfortably to lunch!' Miles Childwick grumbled.
'Just when I'm settling down to work after breakfast!' moaned Arty.
They were waiting in the sitting-room at Harriet Street. It was 2.15 in the afternoon. A hansom stood in the street; they had chartered it, according to orders received.
'What does she want us for?' asked Arty.
'A wanton display of dominion, in all likelihood,' suggested Miles gloomily.
'I'm not under her dominion,' objected Arty, who was for the moment devoted to a girl in the country.
'I've always maintained that you were no true poet,' said Miles disagreeably.
Peggy burst in on them—a Peggy raised, as it seemed, to some huge power of even the normal Peggy. She carried a lean little leather bag.
'Is the cab there?' she cried.