talk about the rooms, that is one of our rules."

Joan paid the cabman and followed her inquisitor into the office. Miss
Nigel let down the front of the desk, opened a large ledger and donned a
pair of spectacles. "Now," she said, "who are you, what are your
references, and who recommended you?"

Fortunately Miss Abercrombie had remembered to send a letter of
introduction. Joan produced it and handed it to Miss Nigel. "My name is
Joan Rutherford," she added; "I did not know about having to have
references."

Miss Nigel peered at her over the tops of her glasses; she only used
them for reading and could not see out of them for other purposes. "We
have to make a point of it in most cases," she answered, "but also I
judge by appearances. In your case this letter from Miss
Abercrombie--her name is in our books although I do not know her
personally--will be quite sufficient. Now, how much do you want to pay?"

"As little as possible," Joan confessed, "only I would like to have a
room to myself."

"Quite so," the other agreed, "and in any case, all our cubicles are
taken. They are, of course, cheaper than anything else." She ran her
finger down the lines of the ledger. "I can let you have a room on the
top floor which will work out to fifteen and six a week. That includes
breakfast, late dinner, lights and baths. There is a certain amount of
attendance, but we expect the girls to make their own beds and keep the
rooms tidy."

Fifteen and six a week. Joan attempted to make a rapid calculation in
her head, but gave up the idea. It sounded at least quite absurdly
cheap, she would not have to spend very much of Uncle John's allowance
before she got some work to do for herself. The future seemed suddenly
to shut her in to a life enclosed by the brick walls of Shamrock House
with its attendant neighbourhood of Digby Street.

"That will do," she answered, "it sounds very nice."

"Yes," agreed Miss Nigel; she closed the desk and stood up, "for the
price, we offer exceptional advantages. If you will carry up what you
need for to-night, I will show you to your rooms."

It occurred to Joan as she followed her guide up flights of carpetless
stone stairs that her new abode resembled a prison more than anything
else. The long bare passages were broken up by countless doors all
numbered and painted white in contrast to the brick-coloured walls. The
sound of their footsteps echoed mournfully through the bareness and
seeming desola