idly put out her hand; she almost
expected a snowflake to fall. Josephine felt a queer tingling in her
nose, as if her nose was freezing. Then a cab klop-klopped over the
cobbles below, and the quiet seemed to shake into little pieces.

"I had better pull up a blind," said Josephine bravely.

"Yes, it might be a good idea," whispered Constantia.

They only gave the blind a touch, but it flew up and the cord flew
after, rolling round the blind-stick, and the little tassel tapped as if
trying to get free. That was too much for Constantia.

"Don't you think--don't you think we might put it off for another day?"
she whispered.

"Why?" snapped Josephine, feeling, as usual, much better now that she
knew for certain that Constantia was terrified. "It's got to be done.
But I do wish you wouldn't whisper, Con."

"I didn't know I was whispering," whispered Constantia.

"And why do you keep staring at the bed?" said Josephine, raising her
voice almost defiantly. "There's nothing on the bed."

"Oh, Jug, don't say so!" said poor Connie. "At any rate, not so loudly."

Josephine felt herself that she had gone too far. She took a wide swerve
over to the chest of drawers, put out her hand, but quickly drew it back
again.

"Connie!" she gasped, and she wheeled round and leaned with her back
against the chest of drawers.

"Oh, Jug--what?"

Josephine could only glare. She had the most extraordinary feeling that
she had just escaped something simply awful. But how could she explain
to Constantia that father was in the chest of drawers? He was in the
top drawer with his handkerchiefs and neckties, or in the next with
his shirts and pyjamas, or in the lowest of all with his suits. He
was watching there, hidden away--just behind the door-handle--ready to
spring.

She pulled a funny old-fashioned face at Constantia, just as she used to
in the old days when she was going to cry.

"I can't open," she nearly wailed.

"No, don't, Jug," whispered Constantia earnestly. "It's much better not
to. Don't let's open anything. At any rate, not for a long time."

"But--but it seems so weak," said Josephine, breaking down.

"But why not be weak for once, Jug?" argued Constantia, whispering
quite fiercely. "If it is weak." And her pale stare flew from the locked
writing-table--so safe--to the huge glittering wardrobe, and she began
to breathe in a queer, panting away. "Why shouldn't we be weak for once
in our lives, Jug? It's quite excusa