'If Airey hadn't come, you'd have done just the same yourself.'
'No, I shouldn't, Peggy.'
'What would you have done, then?'
'I should have bolted—and dined. And I rather wish I had. I tell you what; if I were you, I'd have one comfortable chair in this room.' He was perched on a straight-backed affair with spindly legs—a base imitation of what (from the sitter's point of view) was always an unfortunate ideal.
'I'd bolt with you—for the sake of dinner,' moaned Peggy. 'What are they doing all this time, Tommy?'
Tommy shrugged his shoulders in undisguised contempt. 'Couldn't we go and dine?' he suggested, with a gleam of hope.
'I want to dine very, very much,' avowed Peggy; 'but I'm too excited.' She looked straight at him, pointed towards the door, and declared, 'I'm going in.'
'You'd better knock something over first.'
'No, I'm going straight in. If it's all right, it won't matter, and we can all go out to dinner together. If they're being silly, I shall stop them. I'm going in, Tommy!'
Tommy rose from the spindle-shanked counterfeit with a determined air.