"I've been trying to tell you." Kitty reflected a moment. "So it's making a catalogue, is it? Whose bright idea is that?" "It was grandpapa's. It's mine now." She did not mention that it was also Horace Jewdwine's. "And what will your little papa say?" "He won't say anything. He never does. The library's mine--mine to do as I like with." "You've broken the spell. Isn't there some weird legend about women never inheriting it?" "Well, they never have. I shall be the first." "I say, if I were you, I should feel a little creepy." "I do--sometimes. That's one reason why I want to get this thing made in my lifetime, before I go away." "Good gracious. You're not going away to die." "I don't know what I'm going away to do. Anyhow, the catalogue will be done. All ready for Horace when he steps into my shoes." "Unless--happy thought--you marry him. That, I suppose, is _another_ pair of shoes?" There was a pause, during which Miss Palliser gazed thoughtfully at her friend. "What have you been doing to yourself? You look most awfully tired." "I've been sitting up rather late the last few nights, cataloguing." "What on earth did you do that for?" "Because I want to finish by the twenty-seventh." There was a pause while Miss Palliser ate tea-cake. "Is Horace coming down before you go?" "No. He's too busy. Besides, he never comes when father isn't here." "Oh dear no, he doesn't think it proper. It's odd," said Miss Palliser, looking down at her tea-cake with an air of profound philosophic reflection. "You can't ask your cousin to stay with you, because it's improper; but it isn't improper to sit up making catalogues with young Mr. Thing-um-a-jig till all hours of the night." "Why should it be improper?" "For Goodness' sake don't ask me. How should _I_ know? Don't you find yourself wishing sometimes that Mr. Thing-um-a-jig was Mr. Jewdwine?" "More tea, Kitty?" "Rather! I'm going into the library to choose a book when I've finished my tea. I shall take the opportunity of observing for myself whether Mr.--Mr.--" "Mr. Savage Keith Rickman." "Good Lord deliver us! Whether Mr. Savage Keith Rickman is a proper person for you to know. That reminds me. Dearest, do you know what they talk about in Harmouth? They talk about _you_. Conversation jiggers round you like a silly moth round a candle. Would you like to know what Harmouth thinks of you?" "No. I haven't the smallest curiosity."