Josephine had replied to them all, and twenty-three times when she came to “We miss our dear father so much” she had broken down and had to use her handkerchief, and on some of them even to soak up a very light-blue tear with an edge of blotting-paper. Strange! She couldn’t have put it on—but twenty-three times. Even now, though, when she said over to herself sadly “We miss our dear father _so_ much,” she could have cried if she’d wanted to. “Have you got enough stamps?” came from Constantia. “Oh, how can I tell?” said Josephine crossly. “What’s the good of asking me that now?” “I was just wondering,” said Constantia mildly. Silence again. There came a little rustle, a scurry, a hop. “A mouse,” said Constantia. “It can’t be a mouse because there aren’t any crumbs,” said Josephine. “But it doesn’t know there aren’t,” said Constantia. A spasm of pity squeezed her heart. Poor little thing! She wished she’d left a tiny piece of biscuit on the dressing-table. It was awful to think of it not finding anything. What would it do? “I can’t think how they manage to live at all,” she said slowly. “Who?” demanded Josephine. And Constantia said more loudly than she meant to, “Mice.” Josephine was furious. “Oh, what nonsense, Con!” she said. “What have mice got to do with it? You’re asleep.” “I don’t think I am,” said Constantia. She shut her eyes to make sure. She was. Josephine arched her spine, pulled up her knees, folded her arms so that her fists came under her ears, and pressed her cheek hard against the pillow. II Another thing which complicated matters was they had Nurse Andrews staying on with them that week. It was their own fault; they had asked her. It was Josephine’s idea. On the morning—well, on the last morning, when the doctor had gone, Josephine had said to Constantia, “Don’t you think it would be rather nice if we asked Nurse Andrews to stay on for a week as our guest?” “Very nice,” said Constantia. “I thought,” went on Josephine quickly, “I should just say this afternoon, after I’ve paid her, ‘My sister and I would be very pleased, after all you’ve done for us, Nurse Andrews, if you would stay on for a week as our guest.’ I’d have to put that in about being our guest in case—” “Oh, but she could hardly expect to be paid!” cried Constantia. “One never knows,” said Josephine sagely. Nurse Andrews had, of course, jumped at the idea. But it was a bother. It meant they had to have regular sit-down meals at the proper times, whereas if they’d been alone they could just have asked Kate if she wouldn’t have minded bringing them a tray wherever they were. And meal-times now that the strain was over were rather a trial.