"Yes," said Philip, putting down his hat. "It's lucky I caught you. I can't find a cab high or low. You had better take Peggy home in yours."
"Tim is going back to the ball, Philip," interposed Peggy. "He has one or two duty dances to work off. I will share his cab as far as the Freeborns' and take it on home. I shall be quite safe."
"Well, hurry up, Peggy," said Timothy, now ready for the road. "I should look a bit of a mug if I got there and found the place shut—what, what? Good-night, Philip, my lad. Don't sit up for me. Half a minute, Peggy! I think I had better have a fresh pair of gloves."
He dashed out, across the hall, and disappeared into his own room, where he could be heard opening drawers and banging cupboard doors.
Philip picked up Peggy's velvet cloak and wrapped it round her.
"Shall I come, too?" he asked, "and act as subsequent escort; or should I find myself a member of the ancient French family of De Trop?"
Peggy picked up her gloves, fan, and handkerchief from the table, and said:—
"You would never be de trop at any time, Philip. But I am not going to drag you to Chelsea to-night. Look—the fog is lifting!"
She drew back the curtain of the window. Twinkling lights were discernible in the street below.
They shook hands.