Peggy seemed alarmed once more.
"No! Colling, please don't light a cigarette. It is too late. I must go to bed."
Collingwood's only answer was to blow out a cloud of smoke, to cross over to the sofa and throw himself upon it.
"Not yet," he said. "Don't be unkind, Peggy. Just one cigarette. Just one, in front of the fire—which, by the way, is out,—and then bye-byes."
"Well, one cigarette, but only one," Peggy said.
Collingwood sat up. "Good little Peggy," he said in a low, quiet voice; and then, raising his head, he looked at her intently with his brilliant grey eyes.
Peggy looked him straight in the face also, and then the spirit of mischief, the excitement of this odd meeting, got the better of her prudence. She came to the back of the sofa and leant over it. "Isn't Peggy going to have one?" she said.
The man took his cigarette-case from his waistcoat pocket, opened it, and gave her a cigarette. Her face was tantalisingly close to his, and she noticed, well enough, that his hand was trembling as he did so. She kept her face close to his just half a moment longer than the situation required.
Collingwood's voice began to shake also. "Now, Peggy, you little devil," he said.
"Why is Peggy a little devil?"