The only excuse that I can offer for her conduct is that, although she was nearly twenty-one, in her present setting she looked about fourteen. The gentlemen, who wore large hairy dressing-gowns, with towels swathed round their necks and mighty sponges in their hands, did not, it must be confessed, show to such advantage as their opponent. They were distinctly tousled and gummy in appearance, and their wits, as is usual with the male sex early in the morning, were in no condition for rapier work. They had both been patiently awaiting their turn for the bath when Joan arrived, and they were now listening in helpless indignation to a peremptory order to return to their rooms and stay there till sent for, and not to molest an unprotected female on her way to her ablutions. "But look here, Joey," said one,--he was a pleasant-faced youth of about nineteen,--"we were _both_ here before you; and you know we arranged last night that you were to come at twenty past--" "Binks," commanded the offender in the Windsor chair, "go straight back to your bedroom and don't argue with me. If you are good I'll give your door a tap on my way back." But Binks was in no mood for compromise, and furthermore wanted his breakfast. "It's not playing the game," he grumbled; "I was here first, Cherub was second--" "_Who_ isn't playing the game?" flashed out Miss Gaymer. "Have you _shaved_, Binks?" Binks, taken in flank, admitted the impeachment,--which, it may be mentioned, was self-evident. "You haven't, either," was the best retort he could make. "No, but I've brushed my teeth," said the ever-ready Miss Gaymer. "Well," pursued Binks desperately, "you haven't done your hair." "My lad," replied his opponent frankly, "if you were a woman and had to put things on over your head, you wouldn't have done your hair either." Binks, utterly demoralised, fell out of the fighting line. "Joey, _I've_ shaved," murmured the second gentleman in a deprecating voice. Miss Gaymer turned a surprised eye upon him. "_Why_, Cherub, dear?" she inquired. "Cherub," who was still of an age to be exceedingly sensitive on the subject of his manly growth, blushed deeply and subsided. But his companion was made of sterner stuff. "Come along, Cherub!" he said. "Let's run her into her bedroom and lock her in until we've bathed. Hang it! It's the third time she's done it this week." "Lay one finger on me, children," proclaimed Miss Gaymer, "and I'll never speak to either of you again!" She made ready for battle by twining her feet in and out of the legs of the Windsor chair, and sat brandishing a loofah, the picture of outraged propriety.