self. So Peter had to cast about for other methods.

"Why shouldn't I keep two servants if I like?" It did seem hard on the
old gentleman.

"What's the sense of paying two to do the work of one? You would only be
keeping me on out of charity." The black eyes flashed. "I ain't a
beggar."

"And you really think, Tommy--I should say Jane, you can manage the--the
whole of it? You won't mind being sent on a message, perhaps in the very
middle of your cooking. It was that I was thinking of, Tommy--some cooks
would."

"You go easy," advised him Tommy, "till I complain of having too much to
do."

Peter returned to his desk. Elizabeth looked up. It seemed to Peter
that Elizabeth winked.

The fortnight that followed was a period of trouble to Peter, for Tommy,
her suspicions having been aroused, was sceptical of "business" demanding
that Peter should dine with this man at the club, lunch with this editor
at the Cheshire Cheese. At once the chin would go up into the air, the
black eyes cloud threateningly. Peter, an unmarried man for thirty
years, lacking experience, would under cross-examination contradict
himself, become confused, break down over essential points.

"Really," grumbled Peter to himself one evening, sawing at a mutton chop,
"really there's no other word for it--I'm henpecked."

Peter that day had looked forward to a little dinner at a favourite
restaurant, with his "dear old friend Blenkinsopp, a bit of a gourmet,
Tommy--that means a man who likes what you would call elaborate
cooking!"--forgetful at the moment that he had used up "Blenkinsopp"
three days before for a farewell supper, "Blenkinsopp" having to set out
the next morning for Egypt. Peter was not facile at invention. Names in
particular had always been a difficulty to him.

"I like a spirit of independence," continued Peter to himself. "Wish she
hadn't quite so much of it. Wonder where she got it from."

The situation was becoming more serious to Peter than he cared to admit.
For day by day, in spite of her tyrannies, Tommy was growing more and
more indispensable to Peter. Tommy was the first audience that for
thirty years had laughed at Peter's jokes; Tommy was the first public
that for thirty years had been convinced that Peter was the most
brilliant journalist in Fleet Street; Tommy was the first anxiety that
for thirty years had rendered it needful that Peter each night should
mount stealthily the creaking stairs, steal wi