The two girls dropped their voices to a low impassioned monotone. "You've got to dress for somebody else besides yourself now--an engaged young lady." "Oh, I don't know that he takes so much notice. But he's given me lots of things, besides my ring. I'm to have a real silver belt--a Russian--next birthday." "I sy, he's orf'ly good to you, you know. Some gentlemen get so careless once they're sure of you. D'you know, we all think you acted so honourable, giving out your engagement as soon as it was on. When do you think you'll be married?" "I can't say. I don't know yet. Never, I think, as long as I'm in that old Bank." Even with his fingers in his ears, young Sidney heard that voice, and before he could stop himself he was listening again. "Don't you like it?" said Miss Bishop. "No. I hate it." Spinks gave a cough; and Miss Bishop began reading to herself in ostentatious silence, till the provocations of the page grew irresistible. "Look here, Floss," she said excitedly. "Look at _me_. 'Fawn will be the pree-vyling colour this year, and for morning wear a plain tailor-myde costume in palest fawn is, for 'er who can stand it, most undeniably _chic_.'" Hitherto Miss Bishop had avoided that word (which she pronounced "chick") whenever she met it; but now, in its thrilling connection with the fawn-coloured costume, it was brought home to her in a peculiarly personal manner, and she pondered. "I wish I knew what that word meant. It's always coming up in my magazine." "I think," said Flossie, "it means something like smart. Stylish, you know." Young Sidney leapt suddenly from his seat. "Go it, Flossie! Give us the French for a nice little cup er tea." "Really, it's too bad we can't have a plyce to ourselves where we can talk. I'm going." And as Miss Bishop went she still pondered Flossie's rendering of the word _chic_. Little did any of them know what grave issues were to hang on it. Then Mr. Spinks emerged from his hiding-place. "Miss Walker," he said (he considered it more honourable to call her Miss Walker now whenever he could think of it; only he couldn't always think), "I didn't know you knew the French language." "And why shouldn't I know it as well as other people?" "I expect you know it a jolly sight better. Do you think, now, you could read and write it easily?" "I might," said Flossie guardedly, "if I had a little practice." "Because, if you could--You say your're tired of the Bank?" "I should think I _was_ tired of it." "Well, Flossie, do you know, a good typewriter girl who can read and write French can get twice as much as you're getting." "How do you know?" "Girl I know told me so. She's corresponding clerk for a big firm of wine merchants in the City. She's going to be married this autumn; and if you looked sharp, you might get her berth." "In a wine-merchant's shop? Mr. Rickman wouldn't hear of it." "It isn't a shop, you know, it's an office. You ask him."