As she untied the string round a bulky parcel of new ballad songs she reflected upon her own unconquerable supremacy. Over in the gramophone department was Amelia, sorting a new consignment of records. Amelia looked as usual, sullen and morose. And it gave Catherine a curious satisfaction to see Amelia looking sullen and morose. Partly, no doubt, because it threw into vivid relief her own superb serenity. But there was another reason. Amelia’s moroseness had a good deal to do with Catherine’s relations with Mr. Hobbs. There had been a time when Mr. Hobbs had seemed to be showing Amelia a significant quantity of his attention. Not so now. To Catherine he gave all the attention he had previously bestowed upon Amelia, coupled with a deference which he had never offered to Amelia at all. Amelia felt herself deposed from a somewhat promising position. But it was not Catherine’s fault.... Catherine never encouraged Mr. Hobbs. She gave him piquant rebuffs and subtle discouragements, and frequent reminders that she was superior to him. She was always distant and unresponsive, and sometimes a little contemptuous. But the more did he return to the assault. Her superb aloofness enchanted him. Her pride, her royal way of taking homage as no more than her due, her splendid self-aplomb convinced him that this was the woman to be Mrs. Hobbs.... So Catherine did not encourage him. It would have been rather silly to do so. And as she saw Amelia looking so sullen and morose, she thought: “Foolish creature! Fancy her thinking that I’m cutting her out! Why, who could help preferring me to her? And I have never encouraged him, I’m quite sure of that ... I’m not a bit to blame....” On the desk beside her was a single sheet of writing-paper inscribed with the handwriting of Mr. Hobbs. It was his day for visiting publishers, and it was evident to Catherine that he must have gone considerably out of his way to come to the shop and leave this note for her. And to induce Mr. Hobbs to go out of his way was to create a revolution in his entire scheme of existence. Well did Catherine know this, and as she read she smiled triumphantly. DEAR MISS WESTON, Don’t forget to repeat the order if those songs from Breitkopf and Härtel don’t arrive. I shall be back about three this afternoon. Yrs. sincerely, J. A. HOBBS. and-- P.S.--Are you free next Saturday afternoon? If so, we could go to Box Hill and Reigate. Catherine, therefore, smiled triumphantly. There was absolutely no need whatever for him to remind her to repeat the order. That was part of the ordinary routine of her business. He knew she would do that: his reminder had been merely an excuse for something upon which to hang a P.S. Silly man!--Did he imagine such a transparent subterfuge could deceive her?