Certainly Tommy deserved not to be hated, for he was very loyal. He showed that only two days later, and at a cost to himself. He was dining with Peggy Ryle—not she with him; for a cheque had arrived, and they celebrated its coming. Tommy, in noble spirits (the coming of a cheque was as great an event to him as to Peggy herself), told her how he had elicited the offer of a dinner from Airey Newton; he chuckled in pride over it.
How men misjudge things! Peggy sat up straight in her chair and flushed up to the outward curve of her hair.
'How dare you?' she cried. 'As if he hadn't done enough for me already! I must have eaten pounds of butter—of mere butter alone! You know he can't afford to give dinners.'
Besides anger, there was a hint of pride in her emphasis on 'dinners.'
'I believe he can,' said Tommy, with the air of offering a hardy conjecture.
'I know he can't, or of course he would. Do you intend to tell me that Airey—Airey of all men—is mean?'
'Oh, no, I—I don't say——'
'It's you that's mean! I never knew you do such a thing before. You've quite spoilt my pleasure this evening.' She looked at him sternly. 'I don't like you at all to-night. I'm very grievously disappointed in you.'
Temptation raged in Tommy Trent; he held it down manfully.
'Well, I don't suppose he'll give the dinner, anyhow,' he remarked morosely.