lty in this kind of learning, and it was far
more really useful than book learning which is proverbially deleterious
to the character. She had the umbrella, too, put down to Miss Scott,
the Lodgings, King's College. When she got out of the shop the
ten-shilling note was still in her purse.

"I shall get some chocolates," she said. "A few!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE SOUL OF MRS. POTTEN

Mrs. Potten was emerging from a shop in Broad Street when she caught
sight of Mr. Bingham, in cap and gown, passing her and called to him. He
stopped and walked a few steps with her, while she informed him that the
proceeds of the Sale had come to ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and
threepence; but this was only in order to find out whether he had heard
of that poor dear Warden's engagement. It was all so very foolish!

"Only that!" said Bingham, who was evidently in ignorance of the event;
"and after I bought a table-cloth, which I find goes badly with my
curtains, and bedroom slippers, that are too small now I've tried them
on. Well, Mrs. Potten, you did your best, anyhow, flinging notes about
all over Christ Church. Was the second note found?"

"The second note?" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. "What d'ye mean?"

"You dropped one note at Christ Church, and you would have lost another
if Harding hadn't discovered that you had given him an extra note and
restored it to Miss Scott. I suppose Miss Scott pretended that it was
she who had been clever enough to rescue the note for you?"

"No, she did not," said Mrs. Potten; and here she paused and remained
silent, for her brain was seething with tumultuous thoughts.

"Well, but for Harding, the Sale would have made a cool ninety-three
pounds, fifteen shillings and threepence. Do you follow me?"

Mrs. Potten did follow him and with much agitation.

"How do you know it was my note and not Miss Scott's own note?" she
asked, and there was in her tone a twang of cunning, for Bingham's
remarks had roused not only the emotional superficies of Mrs. Potten's
nature, but had pierced to the very core where lay the thought of money.

"Because," replied Bingham, "Miss Scott, who was running like a
two-year-old, was not likely to have unfastened your note and fitted one
of her own under it so tightly that Harding, whose mind is quite
accustomed to the solution of simple problems, had to blow 'poof' to
separate them. No, take the blame on yourself, Mrs. Potten, and in
future have a purse-bearer."