I bowed again, a trifle grimly perhaps. “The way of transgressors,” I reminded her, “is seldom easy.” “No, I suppose not,” she said. “How clever you are. Aren’t they frightfully proud of you at home?” “I trust,” I said, “that I have deserved their affection.” “Oh, I’m sure of it,” she replied. “Now let me see.” She frowned for a moment and then began writing in a peculiarly large and childish hand. “Of course I’ll have to tell him,” she said, “that you were at Septimus’s school, where you were frightfully struck with the Lorton Bible, but that you didn’t like Septimus—that’ll be sure to please him—and so you didn’t ask him to help you.” Her face began to brighten as she put this on paper, and I noticed that she was protruding the tip of her tongue. “So you came here all by yourself, thinking he’d be at home, as it was the Easter holidays, and when you found he wasn’t, you asked to see me instead, and I was most frightfully taken up with you.” Here she made a blot, but observed that it didn’t matter, and then pronounced each word as she slowly inscribed it. “He seems a most lovable and religious young man, and I do hope you’ll help him all you can. Cross, cross, cross—those are for kisses—your ever loving and devoted Nina.” Then she handed me the letter. “There you are,” she said. “Now you’ll know exactly what you’ll have to tell him.” Releasing one of my hands, I read it quickly but carefully and returned it to her without comment. “Will it do?” she said. “I can only hope,” I replied, “that, for your own sake, madam, it will.” She put it into an envelope and handed it back to me. “Then I mustn’t detain you,” she said, “any longer.” Nor did I wish to stay. But I was now face to face with a situation of the utmost difficulty. Growingly repugnant as was this woman’s presence to me, and singularly complete as had been my moral triumph, both my posterior trouser-buttons were still lying upon the floor. “Oh, I see,” she said, “would you like to take them with you? I’ll put them in an envelope and then you won’t lose them.” She accordingly did so, handing me the envelope, which I quickly took from her and placed in my pocket. “You see, I’m afraid,” she said, “that I could hardly trust myself to—to actually sew them on.” I bowed to her coldly, ignoring the split infinitive. “Nor should I have seen fit,” I said, “to concede you the opportunity.” Obviously shamed, she lowered her eyes, and to hide her confusion rang the bell, and I am glad to acknowledge that the entrance of the good-looking parlourmaid was not wholly unwelcome to me. Though but a menial, I had already discovered in her some of the most desirable female qualities, and I am happy to record that in a moment of acute anxiety, she played an humble but not unworthy part. Mrs. Lorton turned to her. “Oh, Parker,” she said, “poor Mr. Carp has had a most unfortunate accident.” Parker glanced at my hands.