locksmith, who would do that for you
while you counted half-a-dozen. The counting was optional, and in no
sense necessary, nor even contributory, to the operation.

The real crux of the difficulty was not one of mechanism, but of
responsibility. Who was qualified to decide on opening the desk and
drawers? Who would be answerable for the safety of those papers? The
only person who volunteered was Dolly, and Dolly's idea of taking care
of things was to carry them about with her everywhere, and if they were
in a parcel, to unpack it frequently at short intervals to make sure the
contents were still in evidence. Her offer was declined.

The young man in the trade had numerous and absorbing engagements to
plead as a reason for his inability to 'ang about all day for parties to
make up their minds--the usurper's plea, by-the-by, for a _coup
d'etat_--so perhaps some emissary might be found, to drop round to the
shop to leave word. This young man was anxious to oblige, but altruism
had its limits. Just then a knock at the door below led to Dave
receiving instructions to sift it and make sure it wasn't a mistake,
before a senior should descend to take it up seriously. It was not a
mistake, but a lady, reported by Dave, returning out of breath, to be
"one of Our Ladies,"--making the Church of Rome seem ill-off by
comparison. He was seeking for an intelligent distinction between Sister
Nora and Gwen, in reply to the question "Which?", when the dazzling
appearance of the latter answered it for him.

"I thought I might come up without waiting to ask," said the
vision--which is what she seemed, for a moment, to Sapps Court. "So I
didn't ask. Is that Mrs. Picture's writing-table where Dave gets his
letters written?"

Never was a more unhesitating plunge made _in medias res_. It had a
magical effect in setting Sapps Court at its ease, and everyone saw a
way to contribute to an answer, the substance of which was that the
table was Mrs. Prichard's, _but_ had lost its leg. The exact force of
the _but_ was not so clear as it might have been; this, however, was
unimportant. Gwen was immediately interested in the repair of the table.
Why shouldn't it be done while Mrs. Picture was away, before she came
back?

A momentary frenzy of irrelevance seized Sapps Court, and a feverish
desire to fix the exact date when the table-leg was disintegrated. "It
wasn't broke, when it came from Skillicks," said Mrs. Burr. "That's all
I know! And if you