Your little Museum, I hear, has been totally destroyed with all its contents by fire. I have to remind you therefore that the mittens of her late Majesty Queen Charlotte were there on loan, as lent by me. No equivalent in money can really make up for the loss of so irreplaceable a relic, but I should be glad to know, as soon as possible, what compensation you propose to offer me. The figure that has been suggested to me is £50, and an early cheque would oblige. Faithfully yours, CORNELIA AMBERMERE. A dead silence succeeded, broken by Mrs. Boucher as soon as her indignation allowed her to speak. “I would sooner,” she said, “go to law about it, and appeal if it went against us, and carry it up to the House of Lords, than pay £50 for those rubbishy things. Why the whole contents of the Museum weren’t worth more than--well, leave it at that.” The figure at which the contents of the Museum had been insured floated into everybody’s mind, and it was more dignified to “leave it at that,” and not let the imagination play over the probable end of Mrs. Boucher’s sentence. The meeting entirely concurred, but nobody, not even Robert, knew what to do next. “I propose offering her £10,” said Georgie at last, “and I call that handsome.” “Five,” said Daisy, like an auction reversed. Robert rubbed the top of his head, as was his custom in perplexity. “Difficult to know what to do,” he said. “I don’t know of any standard of valuation for the old clothes of deceased queens.” “Two,” said Mrs. Boucher, continuing the auction, “and that’s a fancy price. What would Pug have been, I wonder, if we’re asked fifty pounds for two old mittens. A pound each, I say, and that’s a monstrous price. And if you want to know who suggested to Lady Ambermere to ask fifty, I can tell you, and her name was Cornelia Ambermere.” This proposal of Lady Ambermere’s rather damped the secret exaltation of the Committee, though it stirred a pleasant feeling of rage. Fifty pounds was a paltry sum compared to what they would receive from the Insurance Company, but the sense of the attempt to impose on them caused laudable resentment. They broke up, to consider separately what was to be done, and to poke about the ashes of the Museum, all feeling very rich. The rest of Riseholme were there, of course, also poking about, Piggy and Goosie skipping over smouldering heaps of ash, and Mrs. Antrobus, and the Vicar and the Curate, and Mr. Stratton. Only Lucia was absent, and Georgie, after satisfying himself that nothing whatever remained of his sketches, popped in to The Hurst. Lucia was in the music room reading the paper. She had heard, of course, about the total destruction of the Museum, that ridiculous invention of Daisy and Abfou, but not a shadow of exultation betrayed itself.