'I won't touch it; it's not mine either,' insisted Peggy.
The despised notes lay on the table between them. Peggy rose and slowly came to him. She took his hands.
'Oh, Airey, Airey!' she said in whispered rapture.
'Bosh! Be business-like. Put them in your bag again.'
'Never!' she laughed softly.
'Then there they lie.' He broke into a laugh. 'And there they would, even if you left me alone with them!'
'Airey, you'll see her soon?'
'What the deuce has that got to do with it?'
'Nothing, nothing!' Her gaiety rose and would not be denied. 'A little mistake of mine! But what are we to do with them?'
'The poor?' he suggested. Peggy felt that prosaic, and shook her head. 'The fire? Only there isn't one. Spills? The butterman?'