Once out on the dark landing, the noise of the storm without told us that we had exaggerated the necessity for silence; so, grasping the tails of each other’s nightgowns, even as Alpine climbers rope themselves together in perilous places, we fared stoutly down the staircase-moraine, and across the grim glacier of the hall, to where a faint glimmer from the half-open door of the drawing-room beckoned to us like friendly hostel-lights. Entering, we found that our thriftless seniors had left the sound red heart of a fire, easily coaxed into a cheerful blaze; and biscuits—a plateful—smiled at us in an encouraging sort of way, together with the halves of a lemon, already squeezed, but still suckable. The biscuits were righteously shared, the lemon segments passed from mouth to mouth; and as we squatted round the fire, its genial warmth consoling our unclad limbs, we realised that so many nocturnal perils had not been braved in vain. ‘It’s a funny thing,’ said Edward, as we chatted, ‘how I hate this room in the daytime. It always means having your face washed, and your hair brushed, and talking silly company talk. But to-night it’s really quite jolly. Looks different, somehow.’ ‘I never can make out,’ I said, ‘what people come here to tea for. They can have their own tea at home if they like—they’re not poor people—with jam and things, and drink out of their saucer, and suck their fingers and enjoy themselves; but they come here from a long way off, and sit up straight with their feet off the bars of their chairs, and have one cup, and talk the same sort of stuff every time.’ Selina sniffed disdainfully. ‘You don’t know anything about it,’ she said. ‘In society you have to call on each other. It’s the proper thing to do.’ ‘Pooh! _you’re_ not in society,’ said Edward politely; ‘and, what’s more, you never will be.’ ‘Yes, I shall, some day,’ retorted Selina; ‘but I shan’t ask you to come and see me, so there!’ ‘Wouldn’t come if you did,’ growled Edward. ‘Well you won’t get the chance,’ rejoined our sister, claiming her right of the last word. There was no heat about these little amenities, which made up—as understood by us—the art of polite conversation.