"No. Very likely you won't want to marry me when you're grown up," Noel explained.
Peggy was amazed at the bare suggestion of such a possibility. "Why, of course I'll want to marry you," she declared, hugging him. "You're the wery nicest man that ever was."
"No, I'm not. I'm a rotter," Noel made brief and unvarnished reply. "No one knows what I am—except myself. And no one ever will," he added almost fiercely. And then, with lightning change of front, he laughed. "Never mind! We'll go on being sweethearts. That's better than nothing, isn't it?"
Peggy was looking at him very seriously. "I'd go on lovin' you even if—if—you was to kill someone," she said.
"Thanks, Peg-top! Well, I've never done that yet, though there's no knowing how soon I may begin," said Noel carelessly.
"Oh, but it's very wicked to kill people." There was shocked reproof in
Peggy's tone.
"Depends," said Noel judicially. "Sometimes it's the only thing to do."
"Oh, Noel!" Peggy's disapproval was evidently struggling with her loyalty.
Something white gleamed in the doorway, and Noel's eyes suddenly sparkled. He abandoned the argument without a second thought.
"Pray come in!" he said. "Peggy is holding a reception. She always receives at this hour. Now, Peggy, stand up and tell this lady my name!"