FIRST VOICE--A natural girlish treble that slightly rolled its R's; being the voice of one Mrs. Newton, in charge of cell 0369, who possessed the gift of mimicry. SECOND VOICE--A masculine drawl that died away of sheer superiority in the roof of the mouth, after the fashion of one Major Leefe of that Department. THIRD VOICE--Rollicking and boyish, intersected by loud "Ha's" and "Bai Jove's" in the manner of Lieutenant Harold Ellerton, also of The Honeycomb. Mingling with the click of the typewriter, at which the third girl sat in a further corner, came the sound of one or other of these voices. Thus: FIRST VOICE--"Miss Howel-Jones, what is the French for 'land'? Aeroplanes, I mean?" A murmured "_atterrir_" came from Olwen, immersed in her work, which meant dividing the morning's correspondence into four batches: A, B, C, and D. SECOND VOICE (after a moment of paper-rustling)--"Er--yeh ... yeh! Wha' have we heah? Letters to be translay' into Fren'. Yeh. Mrs. Newton, will you atten' to thi' too?" THIRD VOICE (after more rustling)--"_Damn_ this nib. Oh, sorry, Mrs. Newton; didn't mean to say damn before you." FIRST VOICE--"Not at all, Mr. Ellerton; I am a married woman myself." FOURTH VOICE (A Scots-Canadian accent)--"Is that so? What I demand of a woman is that she shall be a rrreliable worrrrkerr. I don't assk what she does affterr hours, I----" Here all the voices ceased. For a quarter of an hour no sound came from behind that desk, but that of papers being turned, regularly and methodically. Then the busy Mrs. Newton, not the mimic, spoke. "Just turn up the Q. M. G. file for last month and see if there's a letter with this reference." She gave the reference, and Olwen, after a minute's search in a manilla "jacket," handed over the letter, leaving a slip of paper sticking out of the jacket in its place. Having written "Mrs. Newton" and the date upon that slip, she turned again to her letter-trays. The rustling of papers was resumed. Then the voices again: SECOND VOICE--"Claim for missing kit, wha'? How do f'las manage to be always losing kit? Do _I_ lose kit? Haven't _I_ always goh' millions pairs bags all beau'fly press'? 'Sides, isn't even in ah sec.' Room Two--Fi'----Fi'." THIRD VOICE--"Ha! Reference A. B., stroke two bracket nine oh one two two dated two twelve seventeen. Do they, bai Jove!" FIRST VOICE--"Aren't there any more 'C's,' Miss Howel-Jones?" "Not this morning." Olwen's little black head was bent over the "D" correspondence, which she dealt with herself. "A" letters were handed to the typist, who carried them into cell 0368, next door. "B's" and "C's" were to be thrust into the basket that stood on the top of that desk-screen, from behind which a hand came up ever and anon to take letters. With real enjoyment the Welsh girl worked on.