Peggy, knowing well what was coming, nodded. Timothy bent over her.
"I think we might signify our assent in the usual manner—eh?" he suggested.
"We agreed upon five years—not five seconds!" said Peggy, laughingly releasing her hand. She stepped out of the chair and stood up. "Now, Tim, you trot off to the ball again; it's not much after three. Philip will take me home: he is out getting a cab now. You go and perform a similar service for Babs Duncombe."
"Oh, I say, come!" observed Timothy scornfully. "Babs Duncombe!"
"Why not? She is a very nice, pretty girl, and her father is a very influential man. Remember, Tim, you have got to spend the next five years getting to know influential people. Begin on Babs. If you hurry up, you may be able to catch her for an extra or two."
Already the pliable Timothy was putting on his coat.
"You are right, Peggy," he said. "You are always right. I believe you know what is best for me better than I do myself."
Peggy, surveying him indulgently, mentally allotted to him a maximum of six further months in the single state.
"I shouldn't be surprised," she said. "Good-night, Tim!"
"Good-night, Peggy. You are quite sure about—well, perhaps you're right. Hallo, Theophilus, old son! Got back?"