"Why, Peter," she said, "I hardly see anything of you."
"You are always there," said Peter, putting his arm around her shoulder. "You simply don't know what a comfort it is to have you. Somehow you keep things from going to the devil. I don't mean the housekeeping," continued Peter, answering his mother's puzzled look. "The fact is, mother, you're quite wonderful. You're the only person I know who hasn't any opinions. You just are."
Peter decided to go into the country, and return to London when his mother was ready to come back. The time for this had almost arrived, when he met Marbury in the lobby of the House of Commons.
Marbury broke away from his friends as Peter was hesitating whether to pass him.
"Hullo, Peter, what are you doing in this dusty place? I thought you were loose in the theatre."
"Was," Peter briefly corrected.
"Then you got tired?"
"No, I squabbled with the editor."
"How are you getting on?" asked Marbury, quietly inspecting his friend.
"Very badly. How are you?"