Hilary, who was looking tired and limp after a distressing night and day, said, “What shall you do, Peter?”

“I don’t know,” said Peter.  “I must find something, I suppose.  Some sort of work, you know.”  He pronounced the word gingerly, distastefully, as if it were a curious, unwonted one.  “Perhaps I shall be able to get a post as door-keeper somewhere; in some museum, you know, or perhaps a theatre, or the White City.  I’ve always thought that might be amusing.”

“You wouldn’t earn much that way,” Hilary said hopelessly.

“Need one earn much?” Peter wondered; then remembered how exceedingly little Hilary would be earning, and that perhaps one need, because of the babies.

“Or perhaps I can get taken on as a clerk in some business,” he amended.  “Or in a bank; only I don’t believe my sums or manners are good enough for a bank, really....  Oh, well, I must see what I can squeeze into.  Perhaps Leslie can think of something.  And perhaps the Robinsons will interest themselves in me, though they’ll be even more disgusted at our downfall than they were when I took up my profession, and they thought that perfectly idiotic.  They always do think we’re perfectly idiotic, and now they’ll know we’re something worse.  But they may help me to a job, if I bother them enough....  Anyhow, I’ll be one of your boarders, if I may.”

“You darling,” said Peggy, beaming at him.  “It’ll give the house quite a different feeling if you’re in it.  And how delighted the babies will be.  I believe we’re going to have the fine time, after all, in spite of this bothersome business.  Hurrah for London and no mosquitoes!  And we’ll be quite near a Catholic church, the way the children’ll be able to run in and out as they do here, and not pick up heathen customs.  Why, Hilary, I’m really pleased!”

Peggy was splendid.  She was nearly always really pleased.

They started for England a week later.  In the course of that week two things happened.  One was that Leslie gave Peter the Berovieri goblet for his own.

“You’ve got to take it,” he said.  “If you don’t, I shall give it back to the prince.  I’ve no right to it; I can’t appreciate it properly.  Since I first saw you look at the thing I knew it was really yours.  Take it and keep it.  You won’t let me do anything else for you, but you shall let me do that.”

Peter looked at it with wistful love.  His fingers lingered about its exquisiteness.

“It will break,” he said.  “My things do break.  Break and get lost, and go with the dust.  Or thieves will break in and steal it.  I shan’t be able to keep it, I know; I’m such a bad hand at keeping things.”

“Well, well, have a try,” said Leslie.  So Peter took it and was glad.  It was his one link with the world of exquisiteness and new-burnished joys out of which he was being thrust; he would keep it if he could.

Leslie also said that he could get him a place in a business, if he really wanted one.