Her gown was of apricot, with the bodice cut low and the skirt gathered in loops to show her white silk petticoat, which swelled from under a flowered stomacher so monstrously, that the tiny blue-heeled slipper upon the second stair seemed smaller than ever. Deep frills of lace fell from her short sleeves and a little lace cap was set on her thick dark hair. I swallowed before replying. Then-- "It's a lovely chest," I said lamely. "Picked wood," said Miss Childe. "Flogged once a week for years, that tree was." "Flogged?" "Certainly." Suddenly the air was full of music, and a jubilant chorus of voices was singing lustily-- "_A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut-tree, The more you beat them, the better they be._" As the melody faded-- "I told you so," said Miss Childe. "What about the butter and eggs? Will you pay for them, or shall I have them sent?" I handed her the largest one pound note I have ever seen. "Thanks," she said shortly. "Change at Earl's Court." A peal of boy's laughter floated in at the open window. "Who's that?" said I. "Love," said Miss Childe. "The locksmiths are here, and he's laughing at them. I think it's rather unkind myself. Besides----" A burst of machine-gun fire interrupted her. As the echoes died down-- "You smell of potpourri," said I. "Probably. I made three bags full this morning. Bead bags. Do you mind putting some coal on the fire? If there aren't any tongs, use the telephone." There was no fireplace and no coal-scuttle, so I took off my right boot and put it in the bottom drawer of the tallboy instead. "Number, please," said Miss Childe, who had entered the closet and was standing a-tiptoe before a mirror to adjust a patch beneath her left eye. "Lot 207," said I. "Line's engaged," said Miss Childe. "Didn't you see it in _The Times_?" By way of answer, I threw a large plate at her. She seemed more pleased than otherwise with the attention, and began to pluck the delicate flowers with which it was painted and gather them into a nosegay. In some dudgeon, I blew a small jug of great beauty on to a carved prie-dieu, to which it adhered as though made of some slimy substance. "Cannon," said my lady. "Shall I put you on?" "I wish you would. It's rather important." "You're through." "Tallboy speaking," said a faint voice. "Tallboy. Tallboy." "How d'ye do?" said I. "Ill," said the voice, "so ill. All these years I've carried it, and no one knew----" "Pardon me," said I. "I only put it there five minutes ago. You see, the fire was almost out and----" "Measurements tell," said the voice. "But they never do that. They polish my panels and lay fair linen within me, and great folk have stood about me telling each other of my elegance, and once a baby child mirrored its little face in one of my sides. And all the time measurements tell. But they never do that." A sigh floated to my ears, a long, long sigh that rose into a wail of the wind, and a casement behind me blew to with a shaking clash.