George did not answer. He was in a confusion of fear. This terrible woman would force Miss Brump upon him. He was powerless in her hands. He was in chains. “Does it not?” poked Miss Ram. “Rather,” said George. “Oh, rather.” “Very good. I congratulate your uncle upon obtaining this estimable young woman. She should call here in a few minutes. You can then make final arrangements. Meanwhile, this form--” George hurled himself free from this hypnotic panic. Anything must be done to shake off this intolerable Brump. “One moment,” he said. “I had forgotten--” “Well?” “What colour is Miss Brump's hair?” “Her _what?_” “Hair. Her hair.” “How extraordinary! Brown.” George effected an admirable start. He echoed: “_Brown?_ Oh, not brown?” “Certainly. Brown.” George mournfully shook his head. “Oh, dear! How unfortunate! I'm afraid Miss Brump will not suit, Miss Ram. My uncle--extraordinary foible--has a violent objection to brown hair. He will not have it in the house.” “Unheard of!” Miss Ram snapped. “Unheard of!” George rubbed together his sweating palms; blundered on. “None the less a fact,” he said impressively. He dropped his voice. “It is a very sad story. He had fifteen brothers--” “Fifteen!” “I assure you, yes. All were black-haired except one, who was brown--the first brown-haired child in the history of the house. 'Bantam' they used to call him when they were girls and boys together--'Bantam.'” “_Girls_! You said brothers!” “Ah, yes. Girls as well. Twelve, twelve girls.” “Twelve girls and fifteen boys!” “I assure you, yes. A record. As I was saying, the brown-haired child, he took to drink. It is most painful. Died in a madhouse. My uncle, head of the family, reeled beneath the stigma--reeled. Vowed from that day that he would never let a brown-haired person cross his threshold.” George wiped his streaming face; sat back with a sigh. Miss Brump was buried. Miss Ram's next words caused him to start in his seat. “But your hair is brown.” My contemptible George, all his lies now rushing furious upon him, put his hand to his head; withdrawing it, gazed at the palm with the air of one looking for a stain. “How about _that_?” rapped Miss Ram. George gave a wan smile. “It is my misfortune,” he said simply--“my little cross. We all have our burdens in this life, Miss Ram. Pardon me if I do not care to dwell upon mine.” With a bow Miss Ram indicated sympathy; decorously closed the subject. George gave a little sigh. With a simulation of brightness he proceeded: “You are sure you have no other lady?” “I have one,” said Miss Ram. “She would not suit.” “May I be allowed to judge?” Miss Ram turned to the ledger. “'Miss Mary Humfray.'” George started. “It is nothing,” he explained. “One of those shivers; that is all.” Miss Ram bowed. “'Miss Mary Humfray; aged 21; only child of the late Colonel Humfray, Indian Army; references from former employer not good, but with extenuating circumstances.'”