crumbling to pieces and let in flats to the poor. Hilary and his wife
were most suitably domiciled therein, environed by a splendid dinginess
and squalor, pretentious, tawdry, grandiose, and superbly evading the
common. Peggy wrote to Peter in her large sprawling hand, "You dear
little brother, I wish you'd come and live with us. We have _such_
fun...." That was the best of Peggy. Always and everywhere she had such
fun. She added, "Give my sisterly regards to the splendid hero who shared
your mamma, and tell him we too live in a palace." That was so like
Peggy, that sudden and amused prodding into the most secret intimacies
of one's emotions. Peggy always discerned a great deal, and was blind
to a great deal more.




CHAPTER II

THE CHOICE OF A CAREER


Hilary, stretching his slender length wearily in Peter's fat arm-chair,
was saying in his high, sweet voice:

"It's the merest pittance, Peter, yours and mine. The Robinsons have it
practically all. The _Robinsons_. Really, you know ..."

The sweet voice had a characteristic, vibrating break of contempt. Hilary
had always hated the Robinsons, who now had it practically all. Hilary
looked pale and tired; he had been settling his dead uncle's affairs for
the last week. The Margerisons' uncle had not been a lovable man; Hilary