"What sort of thing?" asked Philip, glad to discuss Peggy in any aspect.
"Oh, going away, and things like that," said Timothy, naïvely. "And her complexion, and her arms—my word! Have you seen her in evening kit? Fancy you knowing her when you were kids! I suppose you were great pals?"
"I dare say," admitted the reticent Philip.
"Only in a childish sort of way, though, I suppose?" pursued Timothy, with a touch of anxiety.
Before his suspicions could be allayed there came a vigorous but rhythmatic tattoo played upon the tiny brass knocker of the door.
Tum-ti-tum-ti-tiddle-i-um, Tum-ti-tum-ti-tum-tum!
Officers' Wives getting pudding and pies,
Soldiers' Wives get skilly!
it said. This was Peggy's regulation way of announcing to her patient that she was about to enter the room. When her hands were full she whistled it. Philip knew every beat of it by heart.
After the usual brief interval the door opened and Peggy entered, to announce to Timothy, with her head upon one side in the manner which he had just described with so much tenderness and enthusiasm, that it was time for him to depart.
"I have another visitor," she said.