"I'm afraid I haven't got any," said Philip.
Peggy regarded him coldly.
"Indeed!" she observed. "I have an idea that I once presented you with my portrait."
"Here it is," said Philip.
He pointed to the open bureau. There stood Peggy's photograph, in a large round silver frame.
"H'm!" said the original, with her head on one side. "The darkest corner of an old bureau! I thought as much. I suppose this empty space in the middle of the mantelpiece is reserved?"
"Reserved—what for?" enquired the mystified Philip.
Peggy pointed an accusing finger.
"Whose photograph," she enquired, "does a man eventually plant in the middle of his mantelpiece? Hasn't she come along yet, Theophilus? You must hustle, you know. You are getting on. You must not be left on the shelf!"
She put her head upon one side in the manner which Philip loved, and smiled provocatively up at her sere and yellow devotee.