“I think she might suit,” George said. “She--she--” he groped wildly--“she is the daughter of a colonel.” “So were four others.” George wiped his brow. “The--the _only_ daughter.” “You consider that a merit?” “My uncle would. He has curious ideas. He is himself an only child.” Miss Ram stared. George had the prescience of trouble, but could not find it. “Oh, yes,” he said, “oh, yes.” “Fifteen brothers and twelve sis--” George saw the gaping pit; sprang from it. “_Has_ an only child,” he corrected. “_Has_, not _is_.” Miss Ram glared, continued: “What of the absence of character?” “I imagine the fact of being an only child would override that. You said there were extenuating circumstances?” “There are. I personally would speak for the young lady.” Excitement put George upon his feet. “I thank you very much, Miss Ram. I feel that this lady will suit.” “You have asked nothing about her. With the others you were unusually particular.” “I act greatly by instinct. It is a family trait. Something seems to assure me in this case.” Miss Ram gazed searchingly at George; answered him upon an interested note. “Indeed!” she spoke. “Remarkable. Pray pardon me.” She drew “Aphorisms” from its drawer; hesitated a moment; with flowing pen wrote beneath “I.” She turned towards George. “Pray pardon me,” she repeated. “What you tell me of acting by instinct greatly interests me as a student of character. In this little volume here I--allow me.” She emphasised with a quill-pen. “_I. Instinct. Instinct is the Almighty's rudder with which He steers our frail barques upon the tempestuous sea of life at moments when otherwise we should be quite at a loss. Some of us answer quickly to this mysterious helm and for example something seems to tell them in the middle of the night that the house is on fire, and they get up and find it is. Let those who don't answer quickly beware!_” “That's awfully well put,” said George. “Awfully well.” For the first time Miss Ram smiled. “You would wish to interview the young lady?” she asked. “Fortunately she is present. Kindly step to the Interview Room.” She led the way. With thundering pulses George followed. His Mary rose. Miss Ram introduced them. George rolled his tongue in a dry mouth; passed it over dry lips. He had no words. “Have you no questions?” Miss Ram asked severely. For a third time since he had entered this building, panic broke damply upon George's brow. He blew his nose; in a very faint voice asked: “Your age is twenty-one?” Upon an agitated squeak his Mary told him: “Yes.” “Ah!” In desperation he paused: caught Miss Ram's awful eye; was goaded to fresh plunge. “Ah, one-and-twenty?” In a tiny squeak Mary replied: “Yes.” He shuffled in desperation. “When will you be twenty-two?” “In February.” “Ah! February.” This was awful. “February.” Miss Ram's eye stabbed him again. “February. Then you must be twenty-one now?” “_Tch-tch!_” sounded Miss Ram.