"Shall I try?" said Katharine, taking out a pencil. She worked out the sum to the satisfaction of Polly Newland, who then unbent a little, and explained that she was going up for the Civil Service examination in March. "I say, you're clever, aren't you? Do you teach?" asked Phyllis Hyam, bringing the front legs of her chair down again with a bang. "That is what I want to do; but I never have," replied Katharine. The other two looked at her pityingly. "Any friends in London?" they asked. "Only relations; and they won't help me." "Of course not. Relations never do. Hope you'll get some work," said the shorthand clerk dubiously. Katharine changed the conversation, to hide her own growing apprehension. "Where are the newspapers?" she asked, looking round. "In the prospectus; never saw them anywhere else!" said Phyllis, with a short laugh. "Did you expect to find any?" asked Polly Newland. "They all do," she added gravely. "It's like the baths, and the boots, and everything else." "Surely, the bath-room is not a fallacy?" exclaimed Katharine in dismay. "Oh, there is one down in the basement; but all the water has to be boiled for it, so only three people can have a bath every evening. You have to put your name down in a book; and your turn comes in about a fortnight." "And the boots?" said Katharine, suppressing a sigh. "You have to clean your own, that's all. They are supposed to provide the blacking and the brushes; but, my eye, what brushes! Of course you get used to it after a bit. When you get to your worst, you will probably wear them dirty." "When does one get to one's worst?" asked Katharine. "That depends," said Polly Newland, sucking the end of her pencil, and staring across in a curious manner at Katharine. "I should say you would get to it pretty soon, if you stop long enough." "Of course I shall stop!" cried Katharine, a little impatiently. "Why do you both say that?" The two girls glanced at one another. "You're not the sort," said Phyllis shortly; and Polly returned to her arithmetic.