The only drawback to Peter's life was the bronchitis that sprang at him
out of the fogs and temporarily stopped work. He had just recovered from
an attack of it on the day when he was having tea at the White City, and
he looked a weak and washed-out rag, with sunken blue eyes smiling out of
a very white face.

"You would think, to look at him," Urquhart said to Lucy, "that he had
been going in extensively for the flip-flap this afternoon. It's a pity
Stephen can't see you, Margery; you look starved enough to satisfy even
him. You never come across Stephen now, I suppose? You wouldn't, of
course. He has no opinion of the Ignorant Rich. Nor even of the
well-informed rich, like me. He's blindly prejudiced in favour of the
Ignorant Poor."

Lucy nodded. "I know. He's nice to me always. I go and play my 'cello to
his friends."

"I always keep him in mind," said Peter, "for the day when my patrons get
tired of me. I know Rodney will be kind to me directly I take to street
peddling or any other thoroughly ill-bred profession. The kind he
despises most, I suppose, are my dear Ignorant Rich--the ill-bred but by
no means breadless. (That's my own and not very funny, by the way.) Did
I tell you, Denis, that Leslie is going to begin educating the People in
Appreciation of Objects of Art? Isn't it a nice idea? I'm to help.
Leslie's a visionary, you know. I believe plutocrats often are. They've
so much money and are so comfortable that they stop wanting material
things and begin dreaming dreams. I should dream dreams if I was a
plutocrat. As it is my mind is earthly. I don't want to educate anyone.
Well, anyhow we're going to Italy in the spring, to pick things up, as