'Positively I will not become the owner of a grand piano.'
A brilliant idea flashed on her—obvious as soon as discovered, like all brilliant ideas:
'Why, you'll have nothing decent to carry them in when you go visiting!'
A sudden sense of ludicrousness overcame Airey; he lay back in the cab and laughed. Was the idea of visiting so ludicrous? Or was it the whole thing? And Peggy's anxious seriousness alternating with fits of triumphant vivacity? All through the visit to the trunk-maker's Airey laughed.
'I can't think of anything else—though there's a note left,' she said with an air of vexed perplexity.
'You're absolutely gravelled, are you?' he asked. 'No, no, not the piano!'
'I'm finished,' she acknowledged sorrowfully. She turned to him with an outburst of gleefulness. 'Hasn't it been a wonderful day? Haven't we squandered, Airey?'
'We've certainly done ourselves very well,' said he.
The cabman begged directions through the roof.
'I don't know,' murmured Peggy in smiling despair. 'Yes, yes,' she called, 'back to Danes Inn! Tea and bread-and-butter, Airey!'