"My dear man, I don't follow you," Nick said. "If you won't come to Dashwood's supper I fear our ways don't lie together."
"Thank him very much; say I've to get up at an unnatural hour." To this Peter added: "I think I ought to tell you she may not be there."
"Miss Rooth? Why it's all for her."
"I'm waiting for a word from her—she may change her mind."
Nick showed his interest. "For you? What then have you proposed?"
"I've proposed marriage," said Peter in a strange voice.
"I say—!" Nick broke out; and at the same moment Peter's messenger squeezed through the press and stood before him.
"She has given me nothing, sir," the boy announced; "but she says I'm to say 'All right!'"
Nick's stare widened. "You've proposed through him?"
"Aye, and she accepts. Good-night!"—on which, turning away, Peter bounded into a hansom. He said something to the driver through the roof, and Nick's eyes followed the cab as it started off. This young man was mystified, was even amused; especially when the youth in buttons, planted there and wondering too, brought forth: