"The poor things," said Peggy, who had a sympathetic heart. "I'm sure I'm
sorry for them, and I hate to ask them for it. But one's got to try and
live."

She was drying Illuminato (baptized in that name by his father's
desire, but by his mother called Micky) before the stove in the great
dining-room. Illuminato had just tumbled off the bottom step into the
water, and had been fished out by his uncle Peter; he was three, and had
humorous, screwed-up eyes and a wide mouth like a frog's, so that Hilary,
who detested ugliness, could really hardly be fond of him. Peggy was; but
then Peggy always had more sense of humour than Hilary.

A boarder looked in to see if lunch was ready. It was not, but Peggy
began preparations by screaming melodiously for Teresina. They heard the
boarder sigh. He was a tall young man with inspired eyes and oily hair.
Peter had observed him the night before, with some interest.

"That's Guy Vyvian," Peggy told him, looking for Illuminato's dryer suit
in the china cupboard.

"Fancy," said Peter.

"Yes," said Peggy, pulling out a garment and dropping a plate out of its
folds on the polished marble floor. "There now! Micky, you're a tiresome
little ape and I don't love you. Guy Vyvian's an ape, too, entirely; his
one merit is that he writes for 'The Gem,' so that Hilary can take the
rent he won't pay out of the money he gives him for his articles. It
works out pretty well, on the whole, I fancy; they're neither of them
good at paying, so it saves them both bother. ("È pronto, Teresina?"
"Subito, subito," cried Teresina from the kitchen.) "I can't abide