Elizabeth looked thoughtful. The door opened.

"Ah! that's better, much better," said Mr. Peter Hope. "'Pon my
word, you look quite respectable."

By the practical Mrs. Postwhistle a working agreement, benefiting
both parties, had been arrived at with the long-trained skirt;
while an ample shawl arranged with judgment disguised the nakedness
that lay below. Peter, a fastidious gentleman, observed with
satisfaction that the hands, now clean, had been well cared for.

"Give me that cap," said Peter. He threw it in the glowing fire.
It burned brightly, diffusing strange odours.

"There's a travelling cap of mine hanging up in the passage. You
can wear that for the present. Take this half-sovereign and get me
some cold meat and beer for supper. You'll find everything else
you want in that sideboard or else in the kitchen. Don't ask me a
hundred questions, and don't make a noise," and Peter went back to
his work.

"Good idea, that half-sovereign," said Peter. "Shan't be bothered
with 'Master Tommy' any more, don't expect. Starting a nursery at
our time of life. Madness." Peter's pen scratched and spluttered.
Elizabeth kept an eye upon the door.

"Quarter of an hour," said Peter, looking at his watch. "Told you
so." The article on which Peter was now engaged appeared to be of
a worrying nature.